


Tommy's Red Right Hand

by HisRedRightHand



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Adopted Children, Adopted Sibling Relationship, Age Difference, Dom/sub, Domestic Fluff, Dominant Tommy Shelby, F/M, Family, Family Drama, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Fatherhood, Original Character(s), Parent Tommy Shelby, Parental Discipline, Praise Kink, Slow Burn, Spanking, Tommy Shelby Has a Daughter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:48:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 37
Words: 160,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27359041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HisRedRightHand/pseuds/HisRedRightHand
Summary: As if being left in charge of the two youngest Shelby siblings wasn't enough, Tommy decides to ask a redhead as ornery as he is and her six year old sister to take up residence at 6 Watery Lane.Disclaimer: This will contain spanking as a disciplinary method of kids/teens as well as a slow burn romance with slight D/s vibes between Tommy Shelby and an OC.
Relationships: Tommy Shelby/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 150
Kudos: 327





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Firstly, as stated above, this story will contain spanking as a disciplinary method, I'm not saying I would condone it in real life in a non-consensual context but this is a work of fiction and if it's not your cup of tea, there are plenty of other works of fiction to be explored.
> 
> Secondly, for the purposes of this story I've made Ada slightly younger than she is in canon, however all other ages and characters remain in the same dynamic as the show.
> 
> Thirdly, the earliest school leaving age from the get-go in this story is 16, historically it would have been 14 but we're just going to break with history here a little.
> 
> Fourthly, this is a Peaky Blinders fic so general warning for mental health issues, PTSD, mental abuse, physical abuse and light substance abuse. I will try to TW at the top of chapters that specifically deal with these issues when they come up, but please do be aware this is very much set within the canon of the show.
> 
> Lastly, this was originally posted on fanfiction.net but we're having technical difficulties over there so moving here.

Tommy Shelby stood across the road from the school, his eyes focussed on the kids streaming out of it, looking for Finn amongst them. One hand was at ease in his waistcoat pocket, the other held his newly lit cigarette, the smoke rising past his face, joining the general smog of Birmingham.

He wondered exactly how the youngest Shelby intended to carry it off. He didn't think Finn was stupid enough not to have made a plan. He didn't think between his, and Pol's efforts that the boy was stupid enough to not at least try and make it look convincingly like he had left school with the rest of them, knowing full well one of them would be waiting for him.

The slightest of frowns, imperceptible to anyone who wasn't used to scrutinising Tommy's face, crossed his brow when he noticed Ada exiting from the girls' door, across the way. How had she managed to get back in the building to leave arm in arm with her friends, without the teachers catching her? He was convinced Ada could have been bloody dangerous if she applied her brains to what he did, instead of to the priorities she assigned in her life. And whilst she frustrated the hell out of them all sometimes, the majority of him was glad his baby sister did care for dresses and dances and picture shows and whatever else it was she busied herself with.

He moved his eyes back to the boys' door, trying not to look too eagerly for the redhead amongst Ada's classmates. Not that they had ever spoken outside of the shop. He had taken to looking for her whenever he went to get Finn, to seeming to glaze blankly ahead of him with his cap pulled low whilst seeking her out. He must have missed her though, she wasn't there. He always saw that red hair in the sea of brown and blonde.

He'd have to let Ada get home herself, she was used to the privilege of walking home herself – and if he pulled her over now, demanded she went with him and their youngest brother, the two of them would know they'd been caught.

He was interested to see how Finn would act when he didn't know he was caught.

"Tommy!" Finn's voice came from the side of the road the school gate was on, and his eyes watched his brother's delighted face as he ran across the road towards him.

It was a novelty to Finn, that he was here, Tommy knew that. It was mostly Polly who did the school pick up. Tommy was better at doing the morning escort, his business days were unpredictable – Pol could usually plan to make herself available for the pick-up. But when Charlie had arrived in the betting shop to inform the elder Shelbys that he'd just seen Finn walk past his yard, presumably when he should be in school, part of a group that included a girl he'd only seen from the back but who looked a lot like Ada, Tommy had called an early halt to business that day. There was too much going on these days for two of his siblings to be running around with no one keeping an eye on them, not being where they should be.

He thought Ada had thought herself too old to hang around with Finn now. There was only just short of four years between them, she wasn't quite fifteen yet, but she was beginning to consider herself quite a grown up. If he was honest she'd probably needed her arse tanned for a while now, something to make sure she still knew she was expected to follow the rules - there'd been too much backtalking and too many quick remarks firing from her recently and she was less observant of the times she was told to be in for. But Tommy thought the Shelby household had seen the last days of double hidings.

Or maybe they'd never end. They were practically as much part of the house as the bloody bricks and tiles were. It had been Arthur and Polly to start, she might have been their aunt but she was only a few years older than Arthur, and she'd practically lived with them growing up. Then him and Arthur had had their turn at bearing the brunt of it together. Then John had come along and Tommy had got smart enough to start avoiding it, but Arthur hadn't and he'd kept his place beside their younger brother. And then their father had done the first long term disappearing act and returned eight years later, just in time to father Ada and disappear, then return, sire Finn and disappear for good. It was almost as if even their bloody useless father knew there had to be two, and that he'd left the gap too long between John and Ada.

He turned and started down the road, Finn at his side.

"How was school?"

"Fine, yeah – Tommy, can we go by-?" Finn started to ask, but Tommy cut him off.

"Fine, eh? 'Snot very enlightening."

He didn't glance at his younger brother, keeping his eyes on the road ahead, inhaling on the cigarette, but he felt the boy falter slightly.

"It was fine…" Finn said, trailing off.

"What did you do?"

"Ehh… Times tables?"

"You sure? Sounded like a question more'n an answer."

"Yeah."

"Which ones?"

"What?"

"Which times tables?"

"Six?"

Tommy nodded, still not looking at his brother, though he could tell his brother's eyes were on him.

"The six times table, all day," he said, keeping his tone casual and bland, puffing on the cigarette, not rushing himself, "Your class can't be that promising a set – given you were on the six times table last week."

"Yeah, well, eh, loads of people got it wrong."

"Is that right?"

He couldn't decide what was more annoying – that his little brother was lying to him, or that his little brother was lying so bloody badly. Hell, at eleven Tommy had known how to handle himself.

It was half a blessing, a relief, that Finn hadn't had to grow up that fast. Finn hadn't had to deal with their father's temper, followed by his absence, or their mother's mental state. Finn had always had Aunt Polly and, the war years aside, him and Arthur. And even John, though John had his own family. Finn had been kept safe. Kept surrounded by people who looked after him, had his best interests at heart.

But still, it was half bloody terrifying that the boy was still so green that he couldn't tell a decent lie, that he hadn't even seemed to plan what bloody lie he would tell in response to basic questions.

At some point Finn would need to join the family business. Tommy needed to grow the legal side of it, if that was to happen. But even the legal side – it would still be the Shelby family business. Finn would still need to be able to tell a decent lie without getting caught, or the results would be tougher than finding it sore to sit for a few days. He sighed. Still, the main thing Finn needed to learn to do was follow orders and, really, that was why he'd be finding it tough to sit for a few days.

"Where did you want to go by Finn?" Tommy asked, circling back to when he'd cut the boy off.

"Sweet shop," Finn replied, scuffing his shoes.

"Sweet shop, eh?"

"Yeah."

"Harrison's?"

"Yeah?"

Tommy was tempted to smack the boy upside the head there and then, answering questions with questions.

He flicked the cigarette away and paused, then, casually, "Don't know if Harrison's will have much in, apparently a bunch of kids went in there earlier today and cleaned the place out."

Finn stopped walking, Tommy didn't.

"Come on Finn," he shouted over his shoulder.

"Tommy…" his brother's voice was trembling.

Tommy pivoted on the spot and, finally looked the boy straight in the eye.

"Finn?" he replied, one eyebrow raised.

"How'd you hear about Harrison's getting stolen from?"

He blinked slowly, then replied, "You don't seem surprised, Finn. How did you hear about it in amongst your day of the six times table?"

The younger boy began to bubble.

Well, that hadn't taken long. They'd probably take about an hour to get it from Ada, even with Finn next to her giving them both up.

Tommy didn't change his face, he simply crouched where he stood and crooked a finger to make Finn come to him.

"You got something to say to me Finn?"

The boy went from the start of the snivelling to a full cry, tears spilling down his still round cheeks. He took more after John at the moment, missing the feline cut of Tommy's own face. But then, maybe he had had round cheeks too when he was eleven, he didn't remember.

"I didn't steal any of the sweets," Finn blurted out between sobs.

"What do you mean, Finn?"

"I was there, but I promise I didn't steal any sweets," the boy cried, thoroughly miserable, "I said it wasn't right, I didn't join in with that."

Tommy wasn't going to get bogged down in the stealing. He arranged shipments of liquor and cigarettes to get stolen to line the shelves of most of the pubs in town. And the tobacco shop, that was how he'd met her in the first place. Or indeed for his own cupboards. He was hardly a paragon.

"But you're telling me you weren't in school today" he clarified.

"N-no," Finn wailed.

"No that's not what you're telling me?"

"No, I…" the boy trailed off and Tommy let him get control of himself, not prompting him, forcing him to finish the sentence when he was done gasping, "I didn't go to school."

"So," Tommy said, dragging it out, "You weren't doing the six times table?"

"No."

"So you lied to me?"

"Y-yeah."

"And you disobeyed me by not going to school like you were supposed to?"

"I'm s-sorry T-Tommy," came the child's lament.

"Right then," Tommy said, then stood up and turned back on the route home.

"Tommy," Finn cried out, then Tommy heard a few running steps coming to catch up with him.

The hand that had held the cigarette now hung docile at his side, and he felt Finn tug on it. He let him have it, feeling his brother's two small hands grasp on to his. Despite his rounded cheeks and the beginnings of a belly, Finn was smaller than he was sure he had been at eleven. He figured the war years, with their rationing, would have stunted the boy's growth and that it would take a while for him to fill out and up. 

"Tommy…"

He sighed and slowed a little but didn't stop, "Finn?"

"What's going to happen?"

"Oh Finn," Tommy replied, "I imagine you know fine well what's going to happen – I'm presuming that's what all the blubbering and wailing is about, unless there's something else you need to tell me?"

"Nothing else Tommy," Finn hiccupped.

"Right – well let's get on then, everyone's waiting at the house," he said.

Finn's wails came louder.

Tommy wasn't moved. If anything, he was tempted to roll his eyes and tell Finn to stop it, or he'd give him something to wail about right there in the street; though he restrained himself. He wasn't completely out of patience yet. And other than the odd smack he'd never gone for walloping either of them in the street. 

But that was the thing – if the wrong people got a hold of Finn, wanted to use him as leverage, the boy would have something real to wail about. Something much more real than the sore backside he was going to be dealt once they got back to Watery Lane.


	2. Chapter 2

Tommy pushed open the door of the house, bringing him into the front room. Polly was standing there, waiting for them. She met his eyes, though the question in hers was answered by the sniffing Finn who came trailing in behind him.

"Ada's not home yet," she told Tommy, then, addressing Finn she barked, "Oi, you – through in that kitchen and sit at the table and I don't want a word from you until I come through and speak to you, got it?"

"Yes Aunt Polly," he mumbled, then walked more quickly than he had done the entire way from the school. Not quickly enough, Polly still managed to send him through the door to the kitchen with a stinging smack.

"How long did it take you to get it from him?" Polly asked.

He didn't respond verbally, just rolled his eyes.

"That quickly, eh?" Polly said, "I dare say Ada will give you a harder time."

"I saw her leaving the school, from inside the building," he told Pol.

"Crafty little madam," she said, then added, "Worryingly so."

He gave a slight nod in agreement.

"It could serve us well if you can get her to toe the line," Polly remarked.

Again, he nodded. That was true. But whether he could get Ada to toe the line was a different matter altogether. And whether Ada could get her head screwed on to serve the Shelby family business was another matter again. She wasn't as green as Finn, but the same went for them both - if either of them was to get involved he needed to get it legal.

It took the length of a fresh cigarette to dwindle before Ada eventually came through the door, grinning at her brother and aunt when her eyes fell on them, faltering slightly when she got two stony stares in response.

Tommy moved to stop her crossing the room and going to the kitchen and she gave an exasperated sigh, "What do you want Tommy?"

"Sit," he replied, indicating the couch.

Theatrically she threw her bag on the floor and fell into the place he pointed at. He flexed his hand, trying to shake out the itch to just grab her, put her over his knee and spank the attitude right out of her without even bothering to talk to her first. Hell, he couldn't even be bothered with the dance of the talk – he went straight to it.

"Finn's already admitted it," he said to her, standing over her, glowering down.

"Finn's admitted what?" she snapped back.

"I don't want to play games Ada, I've been worried all day and I give you fair warning, I'm out of patience," he said, his voice quiet, lowering his face to hers.

She shrunk back slightly in the sofa. He was glad, at least she wasn't entirely unaffected by him.

But she didn't give any admission of guilt, "I don't know what you're talking about," was all she said, albeit from that slightly reclined position.

"Ada, your brother's out of patience and god knows he's got more than me to start with," Polly cut in, "So unless you want me to wash your lies right out of your mouth with a bar of carbolic you best start telling the truth and have the good sense to apologise before it needs to be wrung from you."

"I'm not lying, I don't know what he's on about," she said, her head twisted to address her aunt.

Tommy grabbed her hair and pulled her round by it to look at him, his fingers threaded through, tilting her head back.

"Ada, I've had enough," he began, but she cut him off, her hands rising over her head to wrestle him.

"Tommy for fuck's sake, that hurts, and I still don't know what you're on about."

He released her hair and looked up to where Polly had been, but the door was swinging shut behind her already – she was clearly a step ahead of him.

"Right," he grabbed Ada's arm and hauled her to her feet, then pushed her in front of him, through the door into the kitchen, keeping her walking by applying his free hand to her rear end.

"Finn, what have you said you little shit?" Ada had started to demand on sight of their youngest brother sitting at the table, but Tommy didn't stop her to let Finn answer, he kept her going, through the doors to the betting shop – where Arthur and John were still finishing up. Neither of them said anything but Arthur looked up and gave a grim nod of approval at the dancing teenager's predicament. Maybe Tommy hadn't been alone in thinking Ada was due a good blistering.

He pushed her in the direction of the stairs and, realising where they were going, she redoubled her efforts to shake him off, but he had her in an iron grip. He twisted the arm he had up behind her.

"Ada, you think you're big enough to lie to us and swear, then you're big enough to take the fucking consequences," he snarled in her ear, "So don't make this harder."

"Tommy for – yowch – for fuck's – ouch, Jesus – sake! How come – yowch – you can fucking - ouch – swear and I – aow – can't?" she cried out, her question punctuated by jerks and cries as he reigned down smack after smack on her sister, keeping her moving up the stairs. He could feel both sets of his brothers' eyes following them.

"Because I'm a fucking adult and you're not, and I think it's high fucking time you got a reminder of that," he snapped, finally reaching the top of the stairs and pushing her along the landing, into the room that had once been John's.

As well as John's old bed and chest, which had never been removed, the family kept the tub and toiletries there now rather than in the kitchen. It was inconvenient to cart the water for a bath upstairs a kettle or so at a time, but the kitchen was small and crowded enough even when it wasn't bath night - and since Ada had started wanting to bathe more than once a week like Finn did, it got her out of the way and stopped her moaning about the cold every time one of them opened the back door to go to the outhouse whilst she was in the tub. Polly stood there already, the soap lathered up from the remnants of a jug of water Ada herself had brought up the night before and used.

"Open up," Polly said, crossing the room to where the girl stood, still held tightly in his grasp.

Ada shook her head violently and Polly raised an eyebrow.

"Ada, I've had enough of it – the lying, the answering back, the not doing as you're told, and now thinking you're an adult who can swear," Tommy said into her ear from his place behind her, his voice low and sharp, "So you can either get your mouth open and get on with it or I can put you face down on that bed and take a belt to you until you're willing to hold that soap in place – and that will have nothing to do with the arse tanning you're going to get once we've had our family meeting."

He felt her freeze in his arms. He was always easy on Ada, he always had been. Finn would get taken out the back for the strap as usual; as he had been, as John and Arthur had been. And those were amongst the more civilised hidings doled out by their father. But Ada had only ever had the flat of Tommy's hand, he'd told himself that was all she needed. He knew Polly had taken a hairbrush to her a few times, but he never had. And she'd never been belted. He didn't have the heart for it. 

He couldn't see her face, but Polly had got the soap in, so she must have complied.

"Bite down," Polly instructed.

Ada moaned in protest but before he had to say or do anything Polly had crossed her arms, so his sister must have been holding the soap in place. He released the arm he had twisted and pinned into her back and she immediately shook it out then crossed it with the other in front of her, clearly keen that he wouldn't be able to grip her again.

He sighed and produced his pocket watch, going to sit on the edge of John's old bed, so she could see him looking at the time. Polly stood back, surveying the scene.

None of the three of them said anything. Tommy kept himself still, his eyes on the hands. He wanted to run his hands through his hair, but he wouldn't do it, wouldn't let Ada see how much she was getting to him. The glance he had taken at her before he had sat down had shown him a girl, albeit with a bar of soap in her mouth, who had a right cobb on. She hadn't given in yet. She might not be so old and grown up yet that the threat of a belt wouldn't get her to go along with things, but the fight already had been enough – and he could see that it was still there.

He remembered the child he'd left before the war. A single solid smack would have had that child wailing and begging for forgiveness. And she'd crawl into his lap afterwards and he'd hold her whilst she sobbed, and he'd hush her and cuddle her and say it was alright, that it would be alright. There had been times he'd almost worried that that child was too obedient, too soft. That that child wouldn't learn to stand up for herself. But then, war wasn't just the frontline where they had been. War had happened at home too.

He watched five minutes tick away slowly on the face of his watch before he tucked it back in, stood up and crossed to where the teenager who had replaced that child stood.

"Open," he said, taking the end of the soap in his hand. He began to scrub it back and forth, dragging it on her top and bottom rows of teeth, remembering how much he had hated it when their mother had washed his swear words and tales out of his mouth.

He was glad he had Polly to share the responsibility with, Polly would probably never know just how glad he was for her, but god did he wish they had a mother. Maybe not their mother, if she had still been alive but with all the same issues… He'd probably be in this position anyway. But he wished there was a mother figure he could pass all this over too. He wished he could stop feeling like he was letting his mother down with the poor job he was doing. He remembered the woman who had pinched his nose until he had to open his mouth and who had thrust that soap in there. God, he had hated it, but he'd soon learned not to swear at his mother. Still swore at his father though, at and about him. But there was no carbolic that would wash away that hatred or any expression of it.

He pulled the soap out.

"Spit," he said, indicating the empty fire place.

Polly held out a glass of water. It was the same water she'd used to lather the soap up with in the first place, but it would be better than nothing.

Ada turned from the fireplace to glare at him, but he pointed to the glass in Polly's hand.

Ada snatched it and turned back to glare at Tommy. He glanced and nodded almost imperceptibly at Polly, letting her know he'd seen the snatch. He was glad Ada seemed to know to wait until she was told she could use the water. It showed some kind of promise, even if her face was still full of anger.

"Rinse," he told her, and she did, sloshing the water around her mouth and then spitting it into the fireplace.

The taste wouldn't be gone completely, but the water would have done more than she'd have managed just from spitting alone. He didn't expect thanks though - and he didn't get it.

"Right," Polly said, then took the glass back and dealing her niece a good smack.

Ada squealed and her hands flew to her backside, shielding it from the further onslaught she was clearly expecting.

Pol raised an eyebrow, "For snatching," she said simply to the girl, "Shall we get down to the kitchen then, so we can get on with this?"


	3. Chapter 3

John and Arthur had shut up shop and moved into the kitchen by the time Tommy, Ada and Polly had finished the episode upstairs. Finn was crying a fresh set of tears and Tommy had to fight the urge to roll his eyes. Sure a strapping hurt, he knew that well enough from memory, but the boy's seemingly endless stream of tears was irking him.

'Away and cry all you like, you'll piss less,' their father had once shouted at Arthur when he'd upset him. Tommy's fist had curled and he'd punched their father in the stomach. He had hated their father for as long as he could remember, but Arthur seemed to accept him back every time, seemed desperate to please him. And their father knew it. Used it against him. Taunted him for it. Their father had simply punched Tommy back, and he hadn't held back any of his strength against the seven year old, who had gone careening into the wall but got back up and come back at Arthur Snr. 'At least he can take a fucking beating without snivelling eh? How does it feel, to be out-manned by your younger brother?' their father had leered at Arthur.

He didn't want to be cruel, not like their father. But he wanted the crying to stop.

"Finn," he said quietly and the boy's head snapped to his, his lip trembling, "Save some of those tears for after you've been out the back, eh?"

If the boy had thought he was about to get words of comfort he was sorely disappointed. The lip trembled harder.

"It's not all that bad Finn," John said, a grin on his face as he stood leaning against the window, "You wait for the first time a policeman whacks you over the head with his baton, you'll be wishing you were getting your arse lit up instead."

"You're no help," Polly snapped, reaching over and cuffing him around the ear like a child.

John let out a good natured laugh, there was very little that would make him do otherwise, before saying, "I've got four at home to father, I don't ask for another two – so maybe these two could consider their already tired out big brother next time they want to get up to something."

"As if we're not all tired," Arthur grumbled.

"I. Haven't. Been. Up. To. Anything," Ada growled from behind clenched teeth.

"Ada," Polly warned, but the girl cut her off, crying out passionately.

"It's not fair! It's not fuc-," she paused, glanced at Tommy's raised eyebrow and changed her mind, settling to mutter, "It's not fair, none of you are even telling me what's going on."

She finished by stamping her foot and crossing her arms.

"Jesus God, was I that insufferable when I was fourteen?" Arthur asked Polly.

"No," she replied, her eyes on her niece, "None of you were. But then none of you was a right little madam who thought she was too grown up for the back of a hairbrush."

"I am too old for that," Ada wailed, forgetting her stony glare and looking suddenly wild again, "If we were living the gypsy way I'd be getting married soon!"

"Lord help the one who'd get stuck with you," John joked, making the sign of the cross and rolling his eyes to the heavens.

"Is that what you want Ada?" Tommy asked his sister his icy voice cutting off everyone else.

"Is- what?" she asked, finally on the backfoot.

"Do you want to live the gypsy way – married at fifteen and the responsibility of keeping the wagon clean and making dinner for your husband on an open fire from whatever he caught that day?"

He was half tempted to go live that way himself sometimes. But he wanted more standing than that. And whilst he wanted the standing he knew fine well that Ada liked the ease of their life, though she wasn't smart enough to realise it. She liked languishing in the tub in front of the fire and wearing pretty dresses and not being covered in mud. And she liked buying their dinner from the shops rather than skinning it. She hadn't even liked it when their father, in one of his few fits of tenderness, had taken them all off in the wagon just after Finn was born for a weekend. She had cried to go home until their father had smacked her across the face to make her stop, then he had taken them home and stormed off for a week-long drinking session.

"No, Tommy," she answered, and he heard a small note of remorse in her voice for having said it, "I just want to be treated like a grown up."

"Then stop stamping your bloody foot for a start," he told her, "And if you want more opportunities than that – if you want to work in an office or something - you'd better stay in school."

"I'll work in our office," she said, rolling her eyes.

"Not if I won't bloody have you, you won't," he snapped, "What use have I for a girl who can't get it together to go to class? You won't know how to spell, if I send you to secretarial college and you don't go you won't know how to type and if you're too used to doing what you like you might not turn up to work half the time."

"Tommy," she replied, her voice hardening again, "I don't know what you're getting at."

"Ada," he sighed, "Finn's already admitted it. You were both seen."

"Both seen what?" she shrieked, looking at him, then at Finn, then to Polly.

"Tommy," Finn said, his voice quiet and wobbly.

Tommy turned his eyes to his brother.

"She wasn't – Ada wasn't with us," Finn said, then bit his lip, looking at their aunt, clearly minding that she had told him not to speak until she spoke to him. 

Polly gave a nod, letting him know it was okay, and Tommy watched his brother relax slightly. His mind raced and he glanced at Ada, who was looking furious.

"Who was the girl then - you were with a girl?" Arthur asked.

"Rosie Jackson," Finn answered, his voice still feathery and low.

Tommy closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. No wonder he hadn't seen her leaving the school. Sure he'd torn his eyes away from looking, but he'd have seen that hair if it had been around, even if he was deliberately not looking for it.

Rosie. Fucking. Jackson.

Of course it was Rosie Fucking Jackson. He gritted his teeth, he'd skin Charlie the next time he saw him – uncle or not. _Looks a lot like Ada from the back._ His bloody arse Rosie Jackson looked anything like Ada, from any angle. Ada had brown hair, for a start. There might have been a bit of red in Ada's hair, but Rosie Jackson's hair was bright copper red, unmistakable for anything else. Ada had finely drawn features and a long, slim face. Rosie Jackson had a little round face, and huge brown eyes that dominated it. Those eyes watched you when you moved around her, big enough that she seemed to take in everything, quite the opposite of the way Ada took in nothing. Ada was taller, skinnier. Rosie Jackson was shorter, curvier.

Rosie Jackson was around the same age as Ada – but she was older than Ada in so many ways. She had a smart mouth, same as Ada, he'd heard her stand up for herself to men older than him in the tobacco shop, but she only seemed to use it when it was needed, unlike Ada. She was quiet the rest of the time – sometimes almost unnervingly so. And she worked in the shop. After school – clearly only when she bothered going – and on Saturdays she'd be behind the counter. She earned her own money, and it seemed that was what looked after herself and her sister. Or half sister, he presumed. Either way, she was Ada's age and responsible for herself and the sister. She was in his fucking position two years before he was, he'd been seventeen when their mother had gone. And she had it worse, she had no Polly to help her.

Rosie Jackson's mother was a whore. In the literal sense. Or she had been. Last he'd heard – and he'd made it his business to hear after he'd met the little shop girl who kept her own counsel and didn't seem eager to give him her life story like so many others – Rosie Jackson's mother had a client who saw her exclusively now and who kept a room for her in his big country house. She hadn't been seen in Small Heath in months. He'd half thought about sending a bunch of the boys in to drag her home and order her to look after her kids by order of the Peaky Fucking Blinders – but he didn't have much way of explaining to anyone why he hated watching the girl try and be both a child and an adult. Or so he told himself anyway, as though he'd need to explain his whims to anyone.

But, that aside, he'd started dropping off the cartons of cigarettes they sold to the shop to sell on himself and deliberately on days when she was working. And the truth was, Rosie Jackson had actually started to seem a bit more at ease the longer her mother stayed away.

Had seemed happier. She had actually answered a couple of his questions with more than one word. She had told him about Lily, her little sister, and he had managed to act surprised - as though he hadn't already found out all about who she was, where she lived and who she lived with.

But whether she was happier or not, he had found out from her landlord that the rent money wasn't guaranteed to appear from her mother - and he'd realised with no mother around Rosie was the sole provider for the six year old Lily. So he'd told the landlord to come to him anytime the money didn't appear, under the strict instruction that no one knew about it. He had handed over three month's rent for her in June that year, when he found out that May's had never arrived. He'd bought her peace of mind. Not that he'd ever told anyone about it - and not that she, most importantly of all, knew he had done it. Not that he even fully understood himself why he'd done it, it just seemed like it was the right thing to do - and sometimes, just sometimes, Tommy Shelby did the right thing.

Rosie Fucking Jackson.

He supposed she had no reason to stay in school, no one would be around to smack her backside for her if she didn't go, and as soon as she was sixteen she'd probably be demanding to go full time in the shop, he already knew she'd asked for more hours.

He had thought it odd that Ada would cut school with Finn. But if Charlie had said that Finn's group contained a red head, who looked about Ada's age he'd have known immediately who it had been. Rosie Jackson hung about with the boys, wore trousers when she wasn't in school and, as taciturn as she was, the boys she ran with seemed to listen to her. Tommy had made it his business to know that too. So what _was_ likely, was that Finn and his friends had tagged along on an outing planned by Rosie Fucking Jackson herself.

Basically, Tommy thought it was no wonder the kid skipped school, she probably needed a fucking break.

Rosie Fucking Jackson. A walking picture for everything kids shouldn't have to go through.

"Right, let me get this straight," Ada's voice demanded, interrupting his flow of thoughts about the intriguing shop girl, "You saw Rosie Jackson and thought it was me, but clearly it wasn't me so can I get an apology?"

"You can get a trip over my knee and a week of eating your dinner standing up for your attitude," he told her gruffly, his mind still on the redhead.

"Tommy, it's not fair!" she whined.

"Ada, I meant what I said – I've had enough of your lying – and I know there's been other lies even if you weren't lying today," he cut across her as she opened her mouth, "I'm sick of you swanning in here whenever you like past when you've been told to get in for, I'm sick of the smart mouth."

"Aye, but you want me to stay in school and get a smart mouth," she said.

There was an intake of breath around the room.

"You don't fucking learn, do you Ada?" John muttered.

Ada didn't answer him, her eyes were trained on Tommy, her mouth hung slightly open as if she couldn't quite believe what she'd said either. He took a step towards her and she backed up, her eyes looking around the room for an escape, though she knew as well as he did that there was none. She always realised too late. Why did she always have to realise too late? What was it going to take for her to realise she was near the edge of the cliff and not to jump off?

He swiftly grabbed one of her arms and dragged her to the kitchen table, pushing her over it.

"Tommy, no, I'm sorry, I won't-" she began to protest, but he held her pinned in place with one hand in her back and began to apply his right hand to the seat of her school dress.

He knew it couldn't really hurt that much yet, but she squealed and kicked and twisted under him whilst he kept on.

"Tommy, Tommy it's not fair, I went to school!" she shrieked.

"This isn't because I think you skipped school Ada, it's for your cheek," he answered her evenly, ceasing the smacks whilst he did so, "But I will concede to you the possibility that it's not fair. This is a family democracy. We'll take a family vote. All those in favour that Ada Shelby is well overdue a damn good spanking?"

"If you weren't about to deliver it Tommy, I'd redden her myself," Polly replied grimly.

Ada shook her head violently against the table, he knew that she knew her fate was already sealed but maybe listening to everyone's points of view would make her understand just how much she was pushing them all.

"Ada, if I had my way I'd take you out the back and give you the strap – it's Tommy that says that's not for girls," Arthur told her, "I don't live here anymore, but if I lived with you round the clock like he does, you'd have got this long before now."

He felt Ada stiffen under his grip at Arthur's words, probably shocked at them. She would barely remember a time Arthur did live with them, he had been moved out before their mother had passed away. And though Arthur had smacked her when she was little, it was always Tommy who'd been the main disciplinarian of Ada's life, aside from Polly. She hadn't known that it was him who had stood between her and Arthur's instinct to drag her out the back a few times now.

"John?" he prompted his brother.

John sighed and came forward a few steps to be nearer the table, "Ada girl, we can't treat you like a grown up till you act like one – and acting like one means not needing your backside blistered to keep you in line. Which you do, or you wouldn't answer back so much."

"You answer back," Ada replied miserably, folding her arms in front of her and burying her face in them, not looking at anyone.

John was probably the only one of them who felt like an actual older brother to her - rather than a parent. As such, Tommy knew his younger brother's opinion was probably the hardest for her to hear - as well as being hard for him to give. She was used to Tom or Polly or even Arthur telling her off, but John never did. It would smart her pride that he wasn't on her side.

He reached out a hand and patted the back of her head, "There's a difference between having a joke and answering back Ada, and you know that difference fine well. I'm sorry, but I'm in agreement with everyone else, though I will tell you from experience you should be grateful to Tommy for standing between you and that old razor stop – you've got to deal with the sting in your backside whilst the stink of the outhouse fills your nostrils. Plus there's the rest of the lane hearing and knowing what's happening, though you only care about your dignity till you're about two licks in."

Tommy wasn't used to having his hand shown, but he'd admit that there was part of him that was grateful to his brothers for taking the chance to bolster him up a bit to her. They knew he feared she thought of him like he thought of their father, though none of them ever talked about it. Men didn't talk. That was for women.

"Right then, that's a unanimous agreement amongst those of legal age to vote so I'll continue," Tommy said, and returned to the task of ensuring he had a very sorry little sister on his hands.

When Ada's skirt was up around her waist and her knickers at her ankles – he had only pulled them down to mid thigh but she had kicked and stomped so much that they had fallen completely – he finally ceased, but kept his left hand in the small of her back, making sure she wouldn't move.

"Anything to say Ada?" he questioned.

"I'm sorry Tommy, I'll be good, I won't answer back no more," she sobbed out. Whatever dignity she'd been trying to hold on to had been tossed aside at some point, her cheek now rested where her forehead had and she was looking up at him, her eyes red and watery, her nose dripping.

It hurt his heart a bit, but he was resolved in what he needed to do next.

"I've heard that before Ada," he told her, making his voice as gentle as he could, "And it always seems to slip back in so you need a lesson that makes it last."

Her eyes widened at him, clearly remembering his threat of the belt from upstairs, but he ignored her and looked over to Polly, the only one whose eyes were on him. Arthur had turned away and was finding studying the crockery on the sideboard intriguing, John was looking out the window. He knew how they felt, no matter how well deserved a punishment was, being there when it was being dished out was awkward if you weren't on the giving or receiving end, if you didn't have a job to do. He didn't look at Finn, but he knew his youngest brother's eyes would be avoiding his too.

"Polly, would you go fetch me that clothes brush from the front room?"

"Tommy, no," Ada wailed out as Polly nodded and headed through the door.

His sister was kicking one of her legs and beginning to wriggle under his hand again in the few seconds it took Polly to appear back and wordlessly hand him the brush.

"Ada," he warned.

"Tommy I said I'll be good, I promise."

"Yeah Ada love, I believe you, but I need to make sure you remember that promise in your bones next time you're tempted to break it."

"I will, Tommy, please I don't need the brush," she asked, her voice pitiful.

He sighed and tapped the black wood gently against her upturned and already thoroughly reddened bottom. It was solid, and larger against her than he remembered it being from the times their mother had vigorously applied it to his own rear end.

"Fourteen of these Ada, the one time you'll be glad you're not fifteen yet, eh?" he said, rubbing her back slightly, waiting till she stopped twisting.

She didn't reply, but she gave a moan which he took to mean she understood.

"I want you to count them out," he said, then, when he got no response, he prompted gently, "Ada – do you understand?"

"Yes," she groaned, her face turned into her arms again.

He turned his attention back to the brush in his hand, tapping it lightly a few times against her backside before raising his arm and bringing it down with a swift crack in the spot where her right thigh and buttock merged. He wanted her to feel it every time she sat for a while.

She screeched and drummed her fists into the table for a minute, and he let her. She hadn't known what to expect, and he knew he'd done a good job on making her sore and sorry already.

"Ada, if you don't count them then they don't count," he told her when her initial reaction had simmered down.

"One," she mumbled, her face pressed down to the wood of the table now, her arms balled into fists.

Immediately as it was out her mouth he brought the brush down again in the same spot on her left side.

She had a better idea of what to expect this time and she grunted and wriggled in response, but managed an audible "Two."

And so it went on, until she counted "Seven," and that was when he noticed the change he had been looking for, one perhaps he had failed her by not pushing her to in the first place.

She had stopped wriggling, stopped fighting. Finally. She lay on the table, crying, spent and exhausted.

He smacked the brush down again, still hard, making sure it wasn't a one off.

"Eight," came the small voice.

He rubbed her back and brought the brush down again, though more softly.

"Nine."

She turned her face to him now, looking up at him from where she lay on the table.

He held her eye as he smacked her again with the back of the brush.

"Ten."

She was done. He barely flicked his wrist to bring it down again.

"Eleven," it was almost a whisper.

It wouldn't make any difference how much force he did or didn't put into it now. The last three were pats, and he held his eye contact with her throughout and put the brush on the table as soon as he had brought it down for the last time, not even waiting for her to count.

He let her cry for a while, then slid the arm that had been on her back under her tummy and used it to bring her up. She stumbled a little, whether from her underwear at her ankles or from the lack of power left in her legs he didn't know; he drew her to him, folding her into his arms, kissing the top of her head and rubbing her back, discreetly smoothing her dress back down.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw John go to open his mouth, but Pol held up a hand to stop him and Tommy was glad. Still, he didn't know how long even she could hold back his brothers.

"Ada, love," he murmured gently against her, the way he'd talk to a spooked horse.

She brought her face out of his chest and looked up at him, and he moved his hands to her face, wiping her tears with his thumbs.

"You know why you got that, eh?" he asked her.

She nodded against his hands.

"I don't want to do that again, Ada, eh? Never bloody again, y'hear?"

"I'm sorry Tommy," she whispered. 

If she'd had any tears left he was sure a fresh wave would have started then.

He pulled her in again tight against him, his own stomach churning with the enormity of what had just taken place in the tiny kitchen. He certainly hadn't planned to dish that out, and not with them all gathered. He'd killed men and felt nothing, but punish his teenage sister and he was a bloody mess inside, even if he knew she'd needed it.

"I know you're sorry," he told her, "And you've been punished – so it's okay now. Fresh slate. That's how it works, you know that, right?"

He felt her nod against his chest, then sigh – like a great weight had lifted off of her. She had needed the spanking, but she needed the words too. And he knew he frequently failed on the words, as well as having failed to give her the punishment she'd been crying out for for so long.

"Okay Ada, I want you to go wash your face and come back in here when you're ready to talk to me, you understand?" he said, quietly to her.

She nodded again.

"Good – and you might want to step out so you don't trip," he whispered in her ear, kissing the side of her face lightly to try and show he was trying to spare her further humiliation rather than enforcing it. He held on to her whilst she moved from foot to foot, kicking the underwear off her ankles, then she dipped down to grab it and turned to walk away – giving him a small, watery eyed smile before she went through the green doors and up the stairs to her room. He knew she'd probably use her own basin to wash her face, then lie on her bed and cry for a bit, but he needed to give her the space to do that. Ada was proud, that was half the bloody problem, she needed to be humbled, but not broken. She needed time now to lick her wounds and recoup a little.

His eyes stayed on the doors his once kid sister had gone through as Polly crossed to pick up the brush. She put a hand on his shoulder, but he didn't respond, didn't acknowledge it, he just stood against the edge of the table and gripped it as Polly left the room to put the brush back where she'd taken it from in the first place.


	4. Chapter 4

"Right Finn, Arthur's going to take you out the back, go get it over with," Tommy said, after he had opened his eyes and stopped gripping the kitchen table. 

He looked sideways at his older brother, who nodded his agreement of taking the task. Tommy was glad, he had some thinking to do.

"Tommy, please," Finn whispered.

Tommy turned to lean across the kitchen table and look the boy in the eye, "Finn, when you're in school I know where you are, and I know you're safe. When you aren't where I think you are I can't keep you safe, do you understand?"

The boy nodded.

"And you lied to me about it, fed me some story about doing your six times tables," he said.

"I'm sorry Tommy," Finn replied, his voice even more quiet now behind the lip he was biting.

"Yeah, you will be," Tommy replied, straightening up, "And you won't do it again in a hurry after you get a good hiding – so go get it done so we can move on."

Moving at a glacial pace, the boy scraped his chair out from under the kitchen table and headed out the back door, his eyes moving from Tommy to Arthur. The older brother rubbed the back of his neck then lifted the razor strop from the hook on the wall, folded it over in his hands and sighed before heading out behind the younger. 

Tommy could hear their voices but couldn't make out their words – but the crack of the leather reached his ears.

He sighed himself and ran a hand through his hair.

"You did the right thing Tommy, eh?" John said.

He nodded in response. He was sure he had done the right thing, finally. He was sure he hadn't done it quickly enough. And it had hurt him to do it, but it was done now.

"He did," Polly said, agreeing with John, "When was the last time one of yours caught themselves on the hard end of a hiding?"

"Christ Aunt Pol, they're running rings around me – no idea where to start giving out hidings cause I never know which of them actually did what," John admitted.

Tommy frowned over at his brother. John hadn't mentioned anything before now.

"Four kids without a woman, it's hard," Polly said, patting John's shoulder.

It was hard for John, Tommy knew that. He had George and Katie as well as the twins, Jack and Alfie, and they were all young - and all boisterous.

"What I really need is to find a good woman to get married to, but what any good woman is going to want with four kids I don't know. I could probably find a bad one, but I don't know if that would help," John answered, grinning.

Polly laughed and Tommy smirked in response, allowing John to think that easy grin he held covered the truth of what he was actually saying, but, still, he siphoned the information away for when it could come in useful at a later date.

Right now though, he had other things to focus on.

"I'm going to the Garrison," he announced, taking his coat from the back of a chair.

"You told Ada you wanted to speak to her," Polly reminded him, "And Fin'll be back in in a minute."

"Finn heard what I said to Ada, clean slate once he's been punished," Tommy said, taking a cigarette out and rolling it across his lip before lighting it, "Besides, I won't be long."

His coat was back on and he was out the front door before any of them had a chance to respond, though he had seen Polly's murderous look before he turned away. Polly always seemed to bloody know. But he couldn't think about Polly right now. He had to decide whether what he was thinking was completely fucking insane or not. Except that he knew it was. But what the question really was – was would he do it anyway?

A glass and a bottle were pushed over the counter to him as soon as he leant against the bar in The Garrison, Harry waving away his money that, as always, he would leave anyway. He downed the first glass in one, still going over it in his head. He would be playing with fire in a way he'd never played before. And really, how exactly was he going to propose it if he did propose it? He'd come across like a madman. And yet, he wanted it. Even though it was dangerous. Dangerous quite unlike the danger he was used to. And was he being selfish, did he want it for himself or for her? And why did he care anyway?

His eyes spotted the man leaning against the bar. Evans, who owned the tobacco shop – standing with Harrison, the owner of the sweet shop that had been turned over earlier. They were drinking beer.

He motioned to Harry, signalling for another two glasses to be brought, then he picked up the new glasses, his own and the bottle and made his way to where they stood.

"Gentlemen," he said, clearing his throat and placing the glasses down, "Can I interest you?" 

He held up the whisky.

"If it pleases you Mr Shelby," Evans replied, probably nervous as to why Tommy Shelby was offering him an upgraded drink or indeed his time.

"Heard your shop got turned over today Mr Harrison?" Tommy said to the taller man, who nodded his head both to the whisky and the question.

"Bloody kids," Evans chimed in.

"Skiving off school?" Tommy prompted.

"Dunno if they were or not, his Rosie," he jerked his head at Evans.

Tommy frowned slightly before he could stop himself, His Rosie?

"My shop girl, My Shelby," Evans clarified, mistaking whatever the truth behind the frown Tommy had been unable to contain was with confusion.

He nodded and busied himself lighting another cigarette, knowing sticking something in his damn mouth might stop it doing something it shouldn't. His problem was actually his eyes more than his mouth, but there was nothing he could do about that except try and exert more control. Which wasn't usually a problem.

"She was buying some sweets, think it was their lunch break," Harrison picked up, "I'm chatting to her and getting her stuff ready and next thing I know there's a wild bunch o' them behind the counter, grabbing at everything, tipping over jars – handfuls of bars away at a time. I've got a bloody sign in the door saying no more than three kids at a time, but they weren't caring."

So, Rosie Jackson had provided the distraction whilst the rest of them rammed in then. Not a bad technique, he had to admit. Not too dissimilar from the techniques he'd used himself to illustrate to certain local businesses the benefits of having the Peaky Blinders around. 

"Well, Evans here can attest to the proficiency of the Peaky Blinders' protection – as can Harry behind the bar," Tommy said, giving a small snort to show he was joking. 

He didn't need a sweet shop in their portfolio.

"Very happy I am with it too, Mr Shelby," Evans said, raising his glass in a toast and downing the contents, eager to please.

"Happy enough you're shutting early, it's barely gone five?" Tommy asked nonchalantly, refilling the emptied glass.

"Rosie's in, she'll run it tonight and lock up for me. She's a good girl."

"What age is she?" Tommy asked, his voice cool.

"Fifteen, same year as your Ada at school I believe," Evans wittered on, not catching the warning in Tommy's tone, "She's asking about going full time as soon as she's sixteen, I don't know that I can afford her full time yet, but I can definitely see me enjoying more time here than I currently do!"

"So you've got a fifteen year old girl cashing up and locking up then wandering home alone in the dark."

The smile faltered on Evans' face, "She puts the money in the safe Mr Shelby, fills out what was there for me."

"Sounds like you need more of a guard than an insurance policy if you're going to have school kids working for you on their own," Tommy remarked.

"She's never had any problems, Mr Shelby."

_That she's told you about,_ Tommy thought darkly, but he didn't say anything. Bloody idiot, leaving her on her own to lock up and get home in the dark. And what about the sister, where was she when Rosie was in the shop till all hours?

Well, he had decided – he was going to do what he was going to do and that was one of the first things he'd be putting a stop to when he did.

"I'm not worried about her problems, Mr Evans," he lied, blowing a cloud of smoke into the man's face, "I'm just worried about you claiming from us because you've done something stupid. See that wouldn't really be in the terms of our agreement."

Evans' face paled, "Mr Shelby, I-"

Tommy cut him off by waving his cigarette, "Yeah, yeah, I get it – just make sure you use your head. Fifteen year old girls need protected round here, not left to be the protection."

"Yes Mr Shelby," Evans muttered.

There was a silence then, as Tommy puffed away and Harrison eventually tried to break the tension, "You'll have experience of fifteen year old girls Mr Shelby."

Tommy raised an eyebrow in question, wondering what exactly was being implied.

"Your sister," he clarified.

Tommy gave a curt nod.

"She's a good girl, your Ada," Harrison ran on.

Tommy didn't answer that verbally either. Good girl indeed! Impudent, cheeky, disobedient – they were words he was more likely to attribute to his sister. And he was fairly sure whatever her attitude in the house, she dialled it up even more out of the house – where she was safe in the knowledge no one would dare to raise a finger against her. But that was the crux of it, wasn't it? Ada and Finn, they had that protection of their surname.

Ada wasn't a good girl. Oh, he wasn't under any impressions that she was a terribly bad kid either, not at her core. But he was under no illusions that his sister was an angel – though she'd act like one for the next few days following the incident in the kitchen earlier. But no one would dare to say anything about her other than that she was a good kid. And no one would challenge her. There were definitely times his sister should be challenged, he was sure of that. But she wouldn't be. Not by teachers or local businessmen or random people from Small Heath who might see her locking up a shop and walking home herself. She wouldn't be challenged like other girls, who didn't have the Shelby surname, might be.

"Enjoy gents," he broke his reverie to say aloud, indicating the remnants of the bottle he had put beside them and turning to walk away.

He heard them shout thanks after him but he didn't acknowledge them, just walked out of the pub, resolved in what was going to do. As mad as it may be.


	5. Chapter 5

She was behind the counter when he walked in and she greeted him with a fairly neutral, "Mr Shelby."

Mr. Shelby. Harmless enough words coming from anyone else. And not so individual to him, applicable to any of the male members of his family. Yet, coming from her mouth…

He didn't speak in response but, after he'd held her gaze for a moment, he turned to latch the door behind him and switched the open sign to read 'closed' to the outside world, before turning back to meet her eyes again.

She kept her face fairly blank, only raising her eyebrows. She seemed entirely unperturbed by an action that would have had most men quaking had a peaky blinder turned up whilst they worked alone and done what he had just done.

"Miss Jackson," he said, inclining his head and breaking his silence.

"We're not due a delivery from you," she remarked, though he knew fine well she could clearly see that there was no box of cigarette cartons in his hands.

"Oh, I'm not here with a delivery for the shop," he replied, pulling out his own cigarette case and lighting one up. He had run through this conversation several times in his head already and the truth was he still didn't quite know how it would go. He could make a fairly educated guess at how most men would respond to his words, his actions. But Rosie Jackson – well, she was something else. She had surprised him, more than once.

It could have been dangerous, but it had been mostly pleasant surprises. Like the time he had mentioned to Ada that he had spoken to Rosie Jackson at the shop and Ada had seemed surprised, had told him there had been talk of the Peaky Blinders at school that day and Rosie Jackson hadn't said a word. Men up and down Birmingham were known to insinuate they knew more about blinder business than they did, had been known to try and gather clout by seeming like they were part of it. But not Rosie Jackson.

She didn't say anything in response to his statement, merely stood and watched him inhale and exhale clouds of smoke. He supposed this was how frustrated other people must feel dealing with him, when they said things and he didn't comment. It was the typical way conversation was driven forward by most people. But neither Tommy Shelby nor Rosie Jackson were most people.

He advanced towards the counter and lent on it, still smoking away. She didn't adjust her face or her relaxed stance, but she reached to collect an ashtray from under the counter and placed it on top, pushing it towards him. He flicked into it and resumed.

He was near the end of it when he looked at her and said, "Our Finn didn't go to school today," in a light, conversational tone.

She didn't say or do anything. There were no signs of guilt coming from her, no shiftiness, she didn't drop her eyes from his. And she didn't over compensate by acting surprised either. She let it pass like it was an observation on the weather – something as out of her control as the rain that lashed the ground outside. She was bloody good, he'd give her it.

"You know Charlie Strong's yard?" he asked her.

She nodded, wordlessly.

"Charlie's my uncle," he told her. She didn't say anything, but he suspected she knew that already anyway - everyone did.

"Yeah," he continued, nodding his head slightly, "Charlie came by the shop earlier today, told us he'd seen Finn with a group of kids that included a girl with red hair wandering by his yard when they were supposed to be in school."

He looked at her then, waiting for a response. But he didn't get one. She wasn't denying it was her, but she wasn't owning it either. God, she was as good as he was, though he'd like to damn her for it.

He stubbed the end of his cigarette out in the ashtray then, busying himself with it, not looking at her as he said, "And I met your boss in the Garrison tonight, having a drink with Harrison from the sweet shop. Said you were in buying sweets when a bunch of kids came in and turned the place over."

"What are you saying Tommy?" she eventually broke her silence to ask. He noticed the switch to the use of his Christian name. He fought a smile. Maybe she was trying to remind him of their familiarity, hoping that if he had intentions of turning her in she could subvert them.

He looked back up at her, "I'm saying our Finn got his arse tanned for skipping school and I think you're probably the one who instigated it. I know those other kids listen to you."

"I didn't make Finn come along," she told him, her tone not quite what he could have called defiant, but with something steely in it.

He snorted, "Do you think I got Arthur to light up Finn's backside for him because I think you held him at gunpoint and dragged him away from the school? I know Finn made his own choice."

They regarded each other some more then. He couldn't help himself, he admired her. She knew when she was caught but she didn't make anything worse for herself by blabbering on. She didn't start shouting at him like Ada, eager to protest her innocence. She didn't start blubbering like Finn. She was smarter than either of them.

"So, what do you want?" she asked, her voice slightly cooler now than maybe entirely neutral.

"I know your mother's away and left you," he told her.

Her face was impassable, he didn't know if she'd already guessed that he knew that. She was difficult to read.

"So, I know you don't have anyone to tan your backside for you when you skip school," he continued, realising she wasn't going to give him an answer.

She snorted then, "And I suppose you think I'm going to let you do it?"

The vision of it flashed across his mind then, her pinned over his knee, wriggling around. He wondered if his face was going red and was thankful for the dim light in the shop and the dank greyness that filtered in from the window not doing much more to illuminate the place.

"I suppose if I wanted to put you over my knee Miss Jackson, there wouldn't be much of you letting or not letting me," he told her, his voice smooth where his mind wasn't.

"I suppose you're used to thinking you can do what you want with people Mr Shelby," she retorted, as quick as lightening.

"I suppose I am," he agreed.

She didn't respond, but her eyes stayed trained on him and he noticed they were somewhat bigger, wider than usual. And she had crossed her arms. Interesting position, really. People crossed their arms to make themselves seem cross. Or women did, most of the time. Pol was a fan of it. But it often belay an underlying lack of confidence, either that they weren't 100% sure of themselves and the basis they had for their argument or because they felt they were going to be attacked in some way and they wanted some kind of shield in place. Polly didn't cross her arms generally when she was telling Finn off, because he didn't answer back. But around Ada, Polly was an arm crosser. Around him, she was an arm crosser.

"Suppose I think you're too smart to be wasting your time wandering the streets when you should be in school," he said. It could have been a question but he managed to make it a statement.

"Suppose I don't see that it's any of your business," she replied - also not making it a question.

"Suppose I intend to make it my business."

"Suppose I don't care what you think is your business either."

"I didn't say I was thinking about it being my business, I said I was going to make it my business."

"You said intend. Intend indicates an intension of doing something, not a commitment to actually doing it."

He ducked his head so that she didn't see the smile that touched his mouth then. It gave him the benefit too of being able to look back up at her from underneath his cap, a look he knew men would shrink at.

She didn't shrink, though her arms remained crossed. In fact, when his eyes met hers, her eyebrow did that sarcastic raise again.

He clicked his tongue to draw control back over his mouth then said, "See what I said about being smart."

"If you're not here to 'tan my backside', as you put it, for corrupting your brother into my heathen ways Mr Shelby then why are you here?" she asked bluntly.

He snorted in response.

"Evans won't like that you've shut the shop," she remarked.

Mr Shelby. Evans. There was a mark of respect there for him that Evans wasn't being afforded.

"Like I said," he replied, "I met Evans in the Garrison before I came here."

"So, you told him about your plans to shut the shop and give me a telling off then?"

"Do you think I tell people things?" he asked her, raising an eyebrow.

There was a flicker of a smile at the corner of his mouth and he returned it before he could help himself.

Then he caught himself and cleared his throat, adding, "Besides, this isn't me telling you off. If I was telling you off, you'd know all about it."

"Oh, I bet I would Mr Shelby," she replied. He didn't know what to make of that.

"Evans told me," he decided to plough ahead, ignoring her comment, "That he leaves you here at nights sometimes and lets you shut up the shop."

"Yeah, so?"

"So, where's your sister when this is going on and you're here till all hours?"

"I'm here till eight Mr Shelby, home by half past usually."

"And your sister's what, five?" he asked, knowing fine well…

"She's six, she just turned six in August."

He remembered her telling him.

"Big difference," he said, rolling his eyes. She didn't respond so he prompted, "Well, get on and answer the question."

"What question?"

"Where is your six-year-old sister when you're here till eight o'clock and not home till half past?"

"She's at home. One of the neighbours looks in on her when she gets home from work."

"I'd have a right to tell the parish to take your sister away – and they'd probably take you too since you're under sixteen," he told her, knowing it was cruel - but a necessary cruelty for his own ends.

She uncrossed her arms then and slammed them on the counter, leaning across it, her face feral, "Thomas Shelby, you even think about it and I'll-"

"You'll what?" he cut across her, leaning on the counter himself, pushing his face up to hers.

She glared at him for a few seconds then pushed herself back, her eyes still fiery – though perhaps there was a hint of panic in them – and her tiny lips rolled away almost to nothing.

He drew himself back to standing on the other side of the counter and said, "Do I look like a man who gets the parish involved in things?"

"What do you want Thomas?" she asked him, her voice cold and harsh, her sounds clear cut.

He sighed, he hadn't meant to rile her quite like that. He had meant to be cruel - just maybe not quite as cruel as that seemed to have been, it just – it just came out of him sometimes. He was used to beating people into submission, but he hadn't meant it to go like this. Not with her. He just wanted her to agree, and if she wouldn't do it alone, to do it for her sister's sake.

He took out a new cigarette, rolling it across his lip and keeping his eyes down as he did so, though he could feel hers boring into him. He took a few puffs.

God if she was like other girls her age this would have gone so differently. But then, if she'd been like other girls her age this wouldn't be happening at all.

"Look," he eventually said, after taking a few drags of the cigarette, "I've got a spare room. I want you and your sister to fill it."

He risked looking up to see her reaction. Her lips had unfurled, and her mouth had gone from its tiny little line and to hanging slightly open.

She held his gaze for a minute, blinking those huge dark eyes.

"Why?" she eventually asked. It wasn't quite as blunt as her last question, but the single syllable word didn't give much away about what she was thinking. He hoped the slightly softened voice did though.

"My dad walked out on us," he told her, "And my mother died just after Finn was born – you know that?"

She nodded.

"I know what it is to be a kid with too many responsibilities and no real life," he told her. It gave him a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach to say it aloud. Like standing still and offering his bare chest to a man with a machine gun.

"I can handle it," she said, her voice soft, but sure.

He nodded, "I know you can."

He sucked on the cigarette then and her eyes stayed on him.

"You sister though," he continued, "She deserves a childhood, eh? My brother John has four kids, she'd have them to play around with. My aunt dotes on babies, so she'd have her round her finger. Ada probably wouldn't mind a life size doll to dress up."

He decided to miss out telling her about Arthur being partial to dropping Ada and Finn and their cousins out the window for John to catch.

Rosie moved a hand to brush through her tousled copper hair, making it stick out in all directions even more than it already did. She hadn't said yes but she hadn't said no either.

"What about our house?" she eventually said.

Tommy's heart gave a splutter. She was considering it. She was genuinely considering it. Yes, she was presenting hurdles, but she was considering it. And he knew when someone was considering something it was half won anyway.

"Your mother pays the rent, let her keep paying it," he told her, "If she comes back you can go back with her."

Rosie shook her head, "I'm not moving Lily about to move her back. If she comes back and we're gone, we stay gone."

He nodded. Their mother wasn't a good mother, he knew that. She didn't have to say it.

"You'll find people don't mess with the Peaky Blinders," he told her, meaning it to be a reassurance that, if her mother ever did reappear, there would be no need to worry.

She snorted, "Unless they're six-year-old kids that your hearts all bleed for apparently."

"Aye well, they're the only exceptions," he allowed her.

They may as well have this conversation as if it was entirely about Lillian. If that was how she wanted to play it.

"What do you actually get out of it?" she asked him suddenly.

He didn't answer, just dragged on the cigarette he was dangerously near the end of. He might have to light a new one off the end of the old one to keep his hands and mouth busy, to make sure he didn't rush into saying the wrong thing.

"There are loads of unloved and unwanted kids, why her?" she pressed him.

There it was. The real question, under the asked question. Why her? And not why her, Lillian. Why her, Rosie.

"The truth is my family will dote on the child," he said, his eyes on the floor, then he removed the cigarette from his mouth and blew out a smooth stream of smoke before looking up to meet her eye and saying, boldly, bluntly, "But personally I'm more interested in the sister."

He let it hang ambiguously between them. Let her digest it. It was close to playing his cards, cards he didn't even entirely understand himself. And somehow, he wanted to give this tiny girl the whole fucking deck.

"Why?" she eventually asked.

"You're smart, like I've said," he told her, "I'm collecting smart people."

"Oh?"

"I'm overrun with brawn. Could use some more brain."

"So that's the deal, I agree to this and I become yours?"

Now it was her turn to hang ambiguous phrases between them.

"Summat like that," he allowed her, watching to see how she would react. Which of course she didn't. She was as blank as ever.

"My end of the deal," he told her, going business like, "Is that I'll provide food, lodgings, a family, whatever you need, for you and Lillian. Your end is that you go to school and continue to get smart – and that you do as your told."

"Or what," she said, rolling her eyes, "You'll tan my arse?"

"Yup."

Her mouth fell open slightly and her hands went to her hips as she protested, "I'm fifteen years of age, I'm far too old for you to – to be doing that Thomas!"

He grinned then, a full and uncensored smile. She was adorable in her outrage.

"Thomas?" he repeated, raising an eyebrow.

"Tommy," she modified, though her hands stayed on her hips.

"You ask Ada about my methods of dealing with disobedient little girls," he told her, waggling the end of his cigarette at her in lieu of a finger before stubbing it out in the ashtray on the counter.

He wished the counter wasn't between them, so he could go chuck her under the chin and tease her some more. It was the most unguarded he had ever seen her, her genuine reaction taking over whatever it normally was that preserved her demeanour.

"I'm not a little girl," can the snappy reply, then, with a hint of a smile, "Though I'm presuming these punishments of yours can't be that tough given the fuss Ada makes if she gets whacked in class."

"What's Ada getting whacked in class for?" he asked.

"None of your business."

He was still smiling, but he raised the eyebrow again.

She leant on the counter then, smiling herself, "I don't go around squealing on people Mr Shelby so if that's what you're looking for you'll need to go elsewhere."

"Mr Shelby again am I?" he said, "Well Miss Jackson, that's good. Cause I don't need people with big mouths in my life." He nodded at her.

She made a "Hmm," sound but didn't say anything.

"I suppose you don't squeal when you get whacked in school?" he said.

"No I bloody well don't, not even when this shit went down," she said, suddenly vociferous, and held out her hands across the counter to him.

"I'll warn you right now, you let Polly hear you use that language before you're eighteen and you'll find yourself getting whacked alright," he told her, before glancing down at the small upturned hands she proffered him.

The smile left him as he took them in his own hands, his own hands that were like meat cleavers in comparison to hers, but he made sure to be gentle. She didn't flinch though, not even as he ran his thumb over the raised red welts, crossed over on both palms.

Fucking sadists.

"Right, well this won't be happening again," he said, his voice suddenly rough, "Who did this?"

She just looked at him.

"Rosie, you tell me who did this," he ordered, looking into her eyes.

"The head, Mr Dalton."

Dalton. The man hadn't come to his attention before, but he'd get the information he needed, send a few boys over.

"I'll deal with it," he told her.

"You don't even know why he did it."

"I don't care why he did it, there's no fucking excuse and he's not doing it again."

He had the urge to pick up her palms and press his lips to them, but even holding them, even breaking the barrier of the counter felt oddly intimate; so he controlled himself and resisted it. He didn't let her hands go though.

"When did this happen?" he asked, nodding at the red wheals where the cane had been applied, and applied viciously. He didn't bloody approve of using the thing on girls in the first place, but if they were going to insist on it they were supposed to do it in straight lines that didn't cross over. And the fucking maximum was supposed to be six. She had four on each hand, crossed like the intersection of sets of train tracks.

"Day before yesterday."

He felt his blood boil. Two days later and the marks looked fresh. He dreaded to think that they had looked like two days ago. And what she had endured. Without squealing. He could picture her now, defiantly taking it without making a sound. He'd have done the same. But that didn't make it right that she should have had to.

"I thought maybe it was yesterday, maybe that was why you'd skipped today."

"It was why I skipped today."

"But you went yesterday?"

"Yeah. And my hands were that bloody sore I could barely write. Had to give up my fucking lunch to get everything done because I wasn't giving him the fucking satisfaction of being sent to see him for falling behind. Could just see him asking why I had been so slow and me having to turn around and admit why," she said, her voice bitter, then – as though she needed to clarify, "Wouldn't have, obviously. Wouldn't have said anything. And then I'd have needed to keep it together while he gave me a fresh sent on top of these."

And she would have kept it together, he was sure of that.

"He'll not be at the school much longer, so you don't need to worry about that. And the new one will have it made very clear he doesn't go near Shelby girls with a fucking cane."

"I told him I smashed a window," she said quietly.

"You told him?" Tommy repeated, emphasising slightly the told, letting her know he'd picked up on her phrasing.

"Yeah."

"Not that it matters, because if you smashed every fucking window in the school it wouldn't make those marks okay, but did you smash it?" he asked, regretting that there was a hint of his anger breaking through in his voice. Anger that wasn't aimed at her.

"No."

"So, what's the story?" he asked her softly, realising there was something she wanted to tell him.

"This kid Peter – he smashed the window. Cricket ball gone awry. Accident. But he gets beaten at home as it is, and if he goes home with marks on him from school he gets it worse for embarrassing the family," she told him, holding his gaze.

He realised what she was asking.

"You know what I do, right?"

She nodded.

"Not the selling of the merchandise that I drop here, I mean the other stuff. The protection."

She nodded again.

"I do bad things. But you already know that."

She didn't nod this time, just stared at him.

"So, don't think," he told her, his voice low, throaty, intense, his eyes never leaving hers, his hands still curled under hers, "That I don't know the god damned difference between taking someone I look after over my knee to teach them a lesson and carrying out an act of violence against a person. I do both. They're not the same."

She looked at him a long while, then finally nodded again.

He let out a breath.

"There are rules," he told her, "But they're there for your own good. To keep you safe. You don't get punished unless you break them. Simple. And I won't lie to you – every Shelby on this earth has probably had their ears boxed the odd time, but the majority of the time you'll get nothing more than the flat of my hand on your arse and it'll hurt, I promise you that, but there's lots of… I dunno… fat and tissue and padding for it. You're uncomfortable sitting for a few days and if you learn the lesson that's the end of it. You don't learn, you repeat, then you get it worse – but still on your arse where you'll recover just fine in the end. And I've only taken the back of a brush once to Ada in her entire fourteen years of being a great bloody pest."

She laughed then, mockingly serious, "Tommy Shelby are you saying I've got a fat arse?"

He laughed, "You behave yourself and I'll have no need to get acquainted with your arse to be able to comment."

She rolled her eyes, "I haven't agreed to this yet."

"Yeah you have," he replied.

"Oh yeah?"

"Well you're holding my fucking hand, ain't ya?"

They both glanced down at their hands on the counter then, his cupped under hers, his thumbs resting on her abused palms – her fingers curled around them.

She released the thumbs and pulled her hands away, standing back from the counter and crossing her arms again. He stood where he was, still pressed against the wooden barrier.

"Fine," she said, "But I'm only agreeing to this because I don't like Lily being alone so much. And I don't want anyone getting the bloody parish involved. She's my fucking sister and she's staying with me."

He nodded. He was fine with sticking to that story.

"Alright then, well – get your coat," he told her, turning to lean against the counter and sticking his hands in his pockets.

"I'm not finished here till eight," she said.

He turned back around and widened his eyes at her, "You're finished – get your coat."

She still had her arms crossed and she widened her own eyes right back at him, "I'm supposed to work till eight, you can't just change that to suit yourself."

"I think you'll find I can."

"I think you'll find you can't."

He flipped the hinged countertop up then, fed up of it being in the way and closed the distance between them. She had backed up against the shelf and she was so bloody short she practically had to tilt her head the whole way back to be able to meet his eyes when she looked up at him, but she did it with such an air of fire about her that it gave the impression that she extended past her stature.

"Do I need to get acquainted with your arse here and now?" he growled at her.

He saw her swallow, but she didn't back down, "Tommy Shelby I have a job and I get paid to be here till eight and I need the money."

"Need the money for what? I'm providing for you now."

"I like having my independence."

"You want pocket money? You can earn it by doing some typing for me a few hours a week after school or at the weekend. Now – Get. Your. Coat."

"Tommy I will not be beholden to you," she growled, "I'll make my own bloody money whether you like it or not."

"You stubborn little…" he growled right back at her, and accompanied his growl with an action - grabbing her upper arm forcefully, yanking her forward and twisting his left arm around the back of her waist, bending her over and pinning her to his side whilst he brought his right hand down sharply and repeatedly on her rear end.

"Thomas Shelby you let me up - right now!" she snapped at him, trying to wriggle out of his grasp. He noticed the switch back from Tommy to Thomas.

"You going to get your coat and do as you're told?" he asked, not acquiescing her demands.

"No!" she snarled, and he rolled his eyes and curled his arm further around her, hoisting her small feet off the ground so she dangled over his forearm before resuming the task.

She was wearing trousers that didn't entirely seem to have been cut for a woman, her shirt had ridden up under his left arm and he could see that they gaped at her waist but were tight, too tight for decency really, across her hips and her rear end. He could see it ripple and bounce with every swat he landed on her. From this angle he was quite close to thinking that actually she did have quite a fat arse.

"Thomas Shelby you listen here a minute!" she shouted at him.

Thomas Shelby. Thomas Shelby. It was a name he was only used to hearing whenever he got pulled into the police station or, once upon a time, back in his own run ins with the school headmaster – Crawley, the name had been then. But here she was snapping it at him, even from under his arm, with her rear end unprotectable.

"Rosalie Jackson, I'll listen for exactly a minute so make it a good use of your minute," he said, pausing the onslaught.

"How do you know my stupid full name?" she asked, clearly surprised to hear it.

"I know everything," he grunted in response.

"Well in that case you should know that you're not being fair right now," she replied.

He looked amusedly over his shoulder at the red bird's nest of hair that was all he could see of her.

"How's that then?" he enquired, turning back and rubbing his right hand firmly across her rear end, a reminder to her that he could start again any time he liked if she wasn't careful. She wriggled in response.

"You said your rules are about keeping people safe."

"Yeah."

"Well that's not what this is, this is you not getting what you want and acting like a bloody baboon."

"Acting like a what?" he asked, trying to keep from laughing.

"You heard!"

He landed a crack across her backside and set her feet back on the ground, bring her to stand, backing her against the shelf again so she couldn't move, though she didn't entirely seem inclined to try to.

She looked up at him, her hair sticking up, face flushed pink and her eyes annoyed and her mouth frowning.

He raised an eyebrow, smirking, "A baboon?"

She met his eyes for a second or two, fighting the smirk he could see coming to her own mouth before she looked sideways, trying not to give in.

He took her chin in his hands and moved it back to face him, waiting till she met his eyes again, "Is that how you speak to your elders then?"

"Oh, so are you my elder now?"

"I am your fucking elder," he said with a smile, chucking her under the chin as he'd wanted to do before, "And so are most of us – so I'd have a think about how you address your elders before you go calling Arthur a baboon; he's not as easy going as me, he might take offence."

She snorted, then said "I've met your brother Tommy, I'm not convinced Arthur would know what a baboon was."

He smacked her lightly on the side of her thigh and wagged his finger at her "Hey, we don't speak badly about family, eh?"

She watched the finger wag with an amused raised eyebrow, then looked back to his eyes, "Still 'we' then? I'm not getting the deal revoked because I won't give up my job."

"I don't make deals if I intend to revoke on them," he said simply, "But you are giving up this job."

"Tommy!"

"Do you want a proper spanking? Because I'll take you through the back, put you over my knee and smack your bare arse until both it and my hand are the colour of your bloody hair if that's what it takes."

"You wouldn't Tommy."

"Try me."

She looked up at him, but he saw a small chew on her lower lip. Fucking adorable.

"Well explain to me how me giving up this job is about keeping me safe?" she ventured.

"You won't be here alone at night with a cash register full of money to tempt god knows what kind of people, you won't be locking up in the dark and walking home alone-"

"I keep my wits about me Tommy, I'm not a fucking idiot," she cut across him.

"This is Birmingham," he told her firmly, "If you're not here after school till all hours you can use the time to concentrate on your studies, which means you'll do better in school-"

"I do well in school without studying," she cut across him again.

He raised an eyebrow at her until she shut her mouth, "Well think how much better you could do with some studying. And you can see your sister more."

He watched her turn it over in her mind, then she clicked her tongue and said, "Fine."

"Thank you," he said, standing back, "Now, get your coat."

"I'm not done Tommy."

He raised an eyebrow.

"Fine - I'll give up the nights during the week, but I'm keeping the Saturday. I don't work alone, and I don't lock up on a Saturday."

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"It's important that I have money of my own Tommy, and it means I can contribute something. I won't have anyone saying I'm a charity case."

"I don't want your fucking contribution, and if anyone says anything about this arrangement you come to me and I'll set them straight."

"Well I want to give it."

He sighed. Stubborn little wench.

"Right. How about you keep the Saturday but the money is yours for whatever it is you think you need money for, and you can contribute in some other way – I don't know," he said, waving his hand about searching for ideas, "I'll speak to Polly, you can make the dinner or something one night a week."

"What do you like to eat?"

"I don't eat."

She rolled her eyes, "No you just smoke and drink. Your lungs'll be black."

"It's Birmingham Rosie, all our lungs'll be black."

"Hmm," she replied, then, with a glint in her eye, "Now can I just point out if you'd discussed this with me like this in the first place there would have been no need for the aforementioned baboon like behaviour?"

"Aforementioned," he snorted at her use of the long word.

"So, in future I want a discussion first before you turn on your auto switch of 'I'm Tommy Shelby and I'm not getting my own way'."

"I'll give you a discussion on not being a cheeky little shit."

"Do we have a deal Mr Shelby? You discuss things, I keep some of my hours, we compromise. It's good to compromise sometimes Tommy."

"We have a deal Miss Jackson, but I don't bloody like it."

He spat and held his hand out to her before he could even think what he was doing, or whether she would know what it meant. But to his surprise she looked at his hand, flicked with spittle and copied the action, spitting into her own hand and shaking his, melding the two, saying as she did so, "Well I'm of the opinion it might do you some good to have to get used to things you don't like some of the time Thomas Shelby."

"Is this how it's going to be then eh?" he said, smiling, "I'll be trying to keep discipline in the ranks and you'll be following behind me going 'What do you call this – did we have a discussion?'"

"I'm pro-democracy and anti-fascist," she replied.

"So are the Shelbys," he replied, "We like a family meeting, and a vote. But I'll warn you now, you better learn to curb your tongue. If it gets proposed that you need your arse skelped and you've called anyone a fucking baboon in the last while – the votes will not go in your favour."

"That's really riled you hasn't it, being called a baboon?"

"I'm not accustomed to being spoken to like that."

"Like I said, might do you some good."

"Go get your fucking coat," he said, nodding his head through in the direction of the back office.

This time, she did.

After she had locked up and they were walking through the rain in the direction of her house, she asked, "Tommy, I'm curious…"

"Hmm?" he asked her through the side of his mouth that the customary cigarette wasn't held in.

"You mentioned every Shelby on earth having had their ears boxed at some point?"

He grinned and took the cigarette from his mouth, "Well it might interest you to know Miss Jackson that I wasn't always the fucking delight that I am now."


	6. Chapter 6

Ada, Finn and Polly were in the little front room - Ada lying on her front by the fire, flicking through something that looked to do with hairstyles and picture stars, Polly on the couch, Finn on his side with his head in his aunt's lap nearly dozing - when Tommy pushed open the door with his elbow and came through, Lily Jackson resting on his hip, a large suitcase in his other hand. The three of them looked up, all of their eyes going to the six-year-old.

The child seemed to have taken to him straight away, which had surprised her sister, and it was entirely mutual, which had surprised him.

"Right, let me introduce the newest members of the Shelby clan," he said by way of greeting, before any of them could open their mouths, "This is Lily, Lily this is Aunt Polly, the lazy lump on her lap is Finn and the sprawler on the floor is Ada."

The child smiled and Tommy saw the magic happen in the room, his aunt pushed Finn's head off of her lap and stood up to come over and say hello to the girl in his arms and Ada put her magazine aside, sat up, winced, and shifted to kneel instead, peering across to get a better look.

He moved further into the room, adding, "I believe you all know Rosie," in indication of the figure who stood behind him, lingering in the doorway, "These two are taking John's old room."

He wasn't sure if it was comforting to his authority or discomforting to his normal actions how little his family reacted to the announcement of two people they didn't really know being moved into their home.

"You didn't bring much did you?" Ada said bluntly, looking at the one suitcase in Tommy's hands, Rosie's own hands stuffed in her coat pockets, clearly devoid of additional bags.

"We're going back tomorrow for more bits Ada, you can help carry if you like," Tommy responded, knowing any form of manual labour would be unappealing to his sister.

The truth was, he wasn't having Rosie carry anything with her hands in the state they were in. He'd take the car over the next day and collect whatever else they had to bring with them.

"Come in love, shut the door behind you, it's cold out there," Polly said, smiling at the redhead, her gaze lingering on her slightly before she turned her attention back to the baby sister sitting against Tommy's chest, cooing over her. Polly knew. He knew that Polly knew.

Rosie didn't respond to his aunt, barely even looked at her, just looked to Tommy, who put the case down at his feet and motioned her in with his now free hand. She came through and shut the door, her eyes darting about, probably taking in more about this room in ten seconds than most people would have taken ten months to notice. Not, he was acutely aware, that there was much to notice.

And he was suddenly aware that, though the houses on Rosie and Lily's street were much the same as those on Watery Lane, there was a big difference between living in one of those houses with two of you than there was with five of you – plus various relatives who seemed to be there more often than not. But Lily was smiling away as Polly stroked her little blonde head and even Finn had stood up on the sofa to get a closer look at the child too. Lily, he wasn't worried about. Rosie's face gave nothing away.

"So, I won't be the only girl anymore," Ada remarked, her eyes going between the two sisters.

"An' I won't be the youngest," Finn said.

"Right," Tommy said, in answer to both of them, coming around the sofa to where Ada was kneeling by the fire and saying, "Lily love, I'm going to put you down here, so you can get to know Ada and Finn a bit, alright? I just need Aunt Polly and your sister to help me with something in the kitchen."

The child was slow to uncurl her arms from around him and regarded Ada with a level of unease but when Tommy confirmed that Ada was 'much nicer than she looks' – which resulted in an indignant exclamation from Ada – Lily eventually allowed herself to be placed on the floor and be seized by his sister, who was bleating on about practising some hair style from her magazine on Lily's hair within seconds.

Polly had heard him and had started through to the kitchen already, but he noticed Finn was still stood on the couch, his eyes on Rosie, who was stock still, as minimally into the room as she could be. She hadn't noticed him looking at her, she was staring at Lily and Ada, something unreadable in her expression.

Tommy cleared his throat, "Rosie?"

She glanced to him.

"Come through here with me," he instructed, indicating the kitchen door.

She didn't respond verbally but she walked in the direction of the door, her hands still stuffed in her pockets, catching Finn's eye on her way by.

"Hi," Finn said, almost shyly.

She nodded at him.

He hadn't really considered that Finn and his friends followed Rosie and hers around whenever they'd be tolerated. Though really, that was no different to the way that Finn and his friends followed the junior members of the Peaky Blinders around whenever they'd be tolerated. Probably would do Finn some good to step into an older brother role for a bit, let him feel he had to look out for Lily rather than always being the bottom of the pile.

He got the impression that Rosie and Ada were more or less indifferent to one another, which he could work with.

"Show Polly your hands," he instructed, once the three of them had assembled in the next room, settling himself against the doors that lead through to the shop.

"What about your hands love?" Polly asked her.

Again, there was no verbal response, she just stared at Tommy for a minute, then slowly withdrew her hands from her pockets and proffered them out to Polly, her gaze slowly moving from his to meet his aunt's.

Polly looked from the dark eyes that had finally given her the time of day and sucked in her breath when she saw the marks on the hands.

"They were done two days ago," Tommy told her.

"Jesus Christ!" she exclaimed darkly, running her fingers over them much the way Tommy had done earlier.

"Can you do anything about them?" he asked his aunt.

"Did they draw blood?" she asked Rosie, who shook her head in response.

"That's good," Polly replied evenly, "Shouldn't get infected. I'll get some cream on them and bandage them up to stop them being exposed to anything, switch them in the morning."

She began to rummage around the kitchen, finding things in cupboards and drawers that Tommy didn't even know the contents of and called over her shoulder, "Who did that then?"

"The head teacher," Tommy answered her, and his aunt looked over her shoulder sharply at him.

He knew what the look was about, she wanted Rosie to speak. He was very aware of the fact she hadn't said a word since they'd entered the house and had more or less looked at him before even responding with an action to anything anyone else had said to her. That silence was what had intrigued him to start with. And then they'd become more comfortable with one another. And he'd forgotten, even though he always thought of her as taciturn, just how disconcertingly silent she could be. What he wasn't sure on at this precise moment though, was whether the silence was a choice, or whether it was a natural result of being shy. Or whether, in general, it was both at different times.

"You take a seat down there love," his aunt said to her, indicating the seat nearest the embers of the fire that was still going in the kitchen, "And take your coat off, you're sticking around, aren't you?"

"She is," Tommy nodded, and held out his hand for her coat, which she slowly slipped off and passed over to him, her face still impassive, before sitting where Polly had pointed.

He folded the coat up, feeling how threadbare it was, before putting it on the sideboard and standing back against the door. From what he had seen in her house, she was spending every penny she earned keeping her and her sister alive and, if there was anything left over, it was clearly getting spent on the sister – whose clothes seemed at least to have been designed for her age and gender, which, so far, was more than he could say about Rosie's.

Polly drew up a chair opposite and held her hand out for the first of the girl's, swabbing over it with some alcohol to clean it. She didn't flinch, so he presumed that she had been telling the truth and there were no open wounds, even small ones, on her hands.

"So, does this head go around beating you all often?" Polly asked her, reaching for the Compton's jar.

Rosie shrugged in response.

"That 'minds me actually," Tommy said, then, raising his voice, "Finn, get in here."

The boy appeared in the doorway that connected the kitchen and the front room.

"Did you know about your head teacher caning girls?" he asked.

"I knew about Rosie's hands," he said nodding, then, stepping further into the room and looking at where she and his aunt where sitting, "It was fucking epic."

"Finn - language!" his aunt snapped.

Tommy reached forward and gave him a sharp smack. His brother jumped about a foot into the air and clutched his already tender rear end, his eyes moving from Rosie Jackson to Tommy and back again. Tommy managed to contain his laughter. His brother was clearly very concerned about this girl's opinion of him and the 'fucking epic' was obviously some kind of hero-worship comment.

He raised his eyebrow at Finn and said, "I've already told her you got your arse tanned earlier for wagging school with her lot, so I wouldn't worry about your dignity too much."

Finn's eyes met Rosie's then, who was watching the two brothers interact with some shadow of what might have been interest, but he was saved from saying anything by Ada appearing in the doorway, holding Lily's hand.

"The whole upper school saw it happen near enough," his sister commented.

"Right – one of the three of you, get it told, what actually happened?" he demanded, his eyes flicking between them all, Ada and Finn looking back at him, Rosie suddenly determinedly focussed on the bandages Polly was wrapping around her first hand.

She had said she took it for someone else, she hadn't said she'd been publicly humiliated in the process. His body tensed. He remembered how embarrassing it had felt the odd time one of their neighbours had passed by him when he was out the back for a strapping, never mind the full upper school.

"It was lunchtime, day before yesterday," Ada supplied, dropping Lily's hand to wave hers about while she spoke, obviously excited to get to tell the tale, "The boys were playing cricket and Peter Long comes up to – to whatever it is when they chuck the ball. Anyway, he chucks it all wrong and smashes the headteacher's bloody-" she trailed off at Tommy's raised eyebrow and swallowed, then continued, slightly deflated, "The headteacher's window."

"Yeah and he's in his office and he appears at the window with the ball and just looks out," Finn picked up where Ada had left off, "So everyone starts scattering, leaving Peter standing there, except for Rosie. She just casually wanders right up to where he is and then nods at him to shove off. And by this time Dalton's running out of the doors with his cane in one hand and the ball in the other and starts demanding to know who threw it."

"And calm as anything, she just holds her hand out and says, 'Please Mr Dalton can I have my ball back?'" Ada cut in, indicating the girl who was sitting by the fire, her other hand outstretched to Polly now, still intently focussed on the process that she'd already watched take place on her first hand, not looking round to meet anyone's gaze, though he thought the flush on her face was probably more related to the fact that she could feel their eyes all on her rather than the remnants of the fire.

It was something to hear Ada and Finn excited and impressed by the same thing.

"And then Dalton starts screaming at her, and he knows the whole yard is watching and he kind of seems to realise he's making a fool of himself when she's just staring him down so he shouts at her to get her hands up there and then and then he whacks her eight fuc- eight times!" Finn picked up.

"They were hard too, you could see him swinging into it," Ada said, "But she never cried out or anything, just looked at him the entire time and his face was getting redder and redder and she just kept her hands out till he was done."

"Yeah, then when he says she can drop her hands she does and asks again for the ball, calm as anything, and he screams at her that he's confiscating it and she just looks at him and he stares at her, spluttering away and she goes 'Is there anything else sir?'" Finn said, bursting into laughter, "It was the best thing I've ever seen in me whole life."

"It was excellent," Ada agreed, "And then Dalton turns to go, but the whole school's formed into this circle around them and he has to push through, swinging the cane about to get people to move out of his way, and then as soon as he's in the door everyone starts clapping her. It was like summat out the pictures."

"I was at the front," Finn said, as if to point out that he had a better grasp on it than Ada, "And Rosie turns to the kid whose ball it is as says 'Sorry about your ball,' then she pushes through the crowd and goes right back to where she was standing before it all happened as though it was nothing."

Tommy's eyes were on Rosie, as were Polly's, but she didn't look up, just stared down at her now bandaged hands.

"So, you're tough as nails then," Polly said, an approving note in her voice as she regarded the girl, but Rosie didn't rise to the praise, simply met her eyes for a second, shrugged again, and looked back down at her fingers.

"What did make you take Peter's beating? And you know if you'd just cried a bit or something you'd have been for four, or maybe six even, but you wouldn't have got eight?" Finn blurted out, clearly a question he'd been keen to ask since it happened and hadn't had the chance to.

She glanced at him and raised an eyebrow, but still didn't speak.

"Jesus! You don't say any more at home than you do at school!" Ada said, a note of disappointment in her tone.

Rosie snorted at that, then, for the first time since she'd come into the house, she opened her mouth and told Ada, "I don't often find it's advisable to go around shooting my mouth off."

"Yeah Ada, and you got spanked earlier for shooting your mouth off," Finn said, a note of superiority in his voice, which earned him another smack from Tommy.

"Don't you try and embarrass your sister," he told him, then to Rosie, "And you, you stubborn little wench," he said affectionately, "You live here now so unless it's pure cheek that's coming from you you're not shooting your mouth off, you're just talking like the rest of us. Speak freely as it pleases you."

"Stubborn little wench?" Ada said, looking between them, the tone of his voice clearly noted by the sister he was fairly sure didn't take note of anything, "How long have you two known each other anyway?" she demanded, crossing her arms and looking between them.

"How long have you been in the shop?" he asked Rosie, cocking his head at her.

She shrugged, "Year an' a bit?"

"A year an' a bit," he said to Ada.

"And Peter Long owes me a favour now," Rosie said suddenly to Finn, "And I'll call it in when I need it."

Finn nodded solemnly, and Tommy saw his aunt raise her eyes to the high heavens, clearly believing exactly what Rosie wanted her to believe – that it had been a culture of gaining favours to be stored and used. He caught her eye and she raised her eyebrows at him, questioning whether he would contradict her, to repeat what she'd already told him the reason was. He raised his own eyebrows back at her. No. He'd keep the confidence she had in him.

"Yeah, well back to that beating - why am I just hearing about this when I ask about it?" he asked his siblings.

"You told us not to bother you with school stuff after I told you the Peaky Blinders should do something about that teacher who smacked me on the knuckles with the ruler!" Ada said, indignant.

"Yeah, Ada, there's a difference between getting a whack for passing notes in class and a teacher beating a kid for some pathetic show of power," Polly spat, her eyes on Tommy even as she addressed her niece.

Tommy nodded to her and she nodded back. Polly understood – something was to be done here. His eyes glanced to the redhead and he knew she had noted the nod between him and his aunt.

"Right – the three of you – and you too Lily," he added, his voice softening slightly as he held out his hand to the little girl who was half hiding behind the door post, having been abandoned by Ada in the excitement of the rendition of what had happened.

She came into the room slowly and took his hand, sliding herself into the tiny space behind his leg and the door he was stood against, pulling his hand round slightly, as if she didn't want the people in the room looking at her. He figured, if it was a family trait, then, based on that, more of Rosie's quietness was shyness than he had really accounted for.

He smiled down at the six-year-old, "Though I don't think you're as daft as this lot, eh Lily?" he said to her. She gave him a small, contained smile before he turned back to address the others, "You misbehave in school, you get whacked in school, that's fair enough. Anything like that happens again, I hear about it immediately, got it? None of you are stupid enough you don't know the difference between a fair punishment and a beating, alright?"

Ada and Finn muttered general "Yes Tommy"s in response, but his eyes sought hers out. She said nothing but gave him a very slow blink – which he took for agreement.

He rolled his eyes before continuing, "And another thing – you're all my responsibility, you're all under my protection, but I am going to need a sense of self-preservation from the lot of you. There's no point hanging on to your pride if you get hanged for it."

He directed that particular comment right down the room at her, even though his words included everyone, but she didn't seem at all abashed. Instead she raised an eyebrow at him, then looked to Polly, who didn't seem to be able to help herself and gave a snort to let him know exactly what her thoughts on him issuing that command were.

"That'll be enough eye rolling and snorting from that end of the room," he said, wishing he had a cigarette in his hand to wave at them. Bloody women.

Lily stifled a yawn behind him, which got Rosie to her feet and gave a welcome end to the mirth he could see beginning to well up in his aunt.

"Right, past your bedtime," she said to her sister, her voice firm.

"Not tired," the little one said into Tommy's leg, her voice clearly tired but with the usual token defiance of a child who wasn't going to go willingly.

"Well I am so I don't know how you aren't," Rosie replied, her tone matter of fact and leaving no room for reply.

Tommy let a small smile touch his mouth as he watched their exchange. She was different, when she spoke to her sister, somehow softer and less guarded and yet, at the same time, with some air of authority. Authority that didn't come from street credit or from taking beatings in the middle of the school yard.

"I'll show you the room," Ada volunteered.

"You do that Ada, Finn – take that suitcase up from the front room and get to your own bed, it's getting on," Tommy ordered, "I'll come up in a minute to set the fire in John's old room, hasn't been on since Saturday so it'll cold."

He saw her blink as she took in the betting shop, the size of it clearly not what she had expected to see behind the green doors, but she didn't say anything as she picked Lily up and followed Ada up the stairs.

"You didn't set it before you left?" Polly asked him once Finn had also disappeared up after them.

He raised an eyebrow at his aunt and lit the cigarette he'd wished he'd had in his hand earlier, "Didn't know for definite if I was going to go through with it when I left."

"Like hell."

"Didn't know she would come," he admitted, inhaling deeply.

"Not like you to do something you don't know the outcome of," she retorted.

"I'm a gambling man, I hedged my bet."

"So, she's the Queen of the school and you're the King of Small Heath, is it a royal wedding we're heading to?"

"She's fifteen Polly."

"If you were living gypsy she'd be marrying age."

"She's not gypsy."

"Nah, she's a fatherless bastard born to a whore."

"You talk about her like that again and I'll cut you Polly," he growled.

She smiled, satisfied, "Thought so. You can't hide your feelings from me Thomas."

"She's fif-teen," he repeated, sounding out the syllables.

"She won't be forever."

"Well she is now," he said, his voice making it clear that the matter was shut.

"Can see why you two get along, you're both such big talkers."

"Give her time to adjust Polly, I just uprooted her life."

"I don't get the impression she'd agree to anything she didn't want to."

"She's got a sister to look after, and her mother's up and left them."

"Christ."

"The parish might get involved, might separate them," he told her, "And I know how you feel about the parish."

She glared at him.

He nodded, "Exactly. Now, look at this coat." He picked it up from where he'd laid it and chucked it across the table her.

Polly reached for it and felt what he had, "She can't be going around Birmingham in winter in this."

"She has been. Polly, she's spending every penny she's got on her sister."

"That sister has you round her finger too," Polly commented.

"I told her the sister would have you round her finger."

"She'll have us all," Polly replied, "Bloody Shelbys, we can be hard in the face of anything but a baby."

"Yeah well, it won't do Finn any harm to not be the baby anymore," Tommy replied, dragging on the cigarette.

Polly nodded, "Agreed."

"But I need your help to sort her – sort Rosie - out a bit – get her some decent clothes and stuff. I don't know about that, it's women's business, but she's not…" he trailed off, waving his cigarette around looking for the words.

"Not like Ada, doesn't want everything pink and frilly," Polly snorted.

"Exactly. Just get her some fucking clothes that she'll wear that fit her properly and a coat that won't get her a bout of pneumonia for her Christmas. She'll make a fuss about accepting them but she'll just need to – I'll burn her existing wardrobe if bloody need be, it'll be no loss to the world."

Polly snorted.

"And that's another thing Pol," he said, sitting across from her, taking the seat Rosie had been in, "She's going on about contributing – she's keeping her bloody Saturdays in that shop, which I'm not bloody happy about – I've told her we're not taking any money from her, but that she can help you with dinner once a week or something. Can you let her alone enough to let her just live without being the breadwinner for a bit, but let her think she's contributing somehow?"

"Someone in this house who wants to contribute, that's a novelty."

"Little chance of it rubbing off on Ada so I wouldn't get your hopes up," he replied, puffing a bit then adding, "She's proud. Stubborn."

"Takes on to know one," Polly retorted.

He didn't say anything then, just inhaled.

"Anything else you're needing Thomas?"

He nodded, "A bed."

"Oh?"

"They're sharing John's old bed just now, she says its fine because the bab comes in with her half the time at home anyway, but she can't be getting a decent sleep in that set up. Don't know whether to get a big bed for the two of them or another single."

"There's your mother and father's old bed?" Polly suggested, her voice careful.

Tommy glanced upwards. They didn't ever talk about that room. They just left it. He supposed it was a waste. He should have put them in there, not in John's old room. He hadn't even thought about it. It was like the room didn't exist, in a way. And then it wasn't. If it didn't exist, he should have been able to dismantle it and use it for something else, the room should have felt lost to him anyway. But he still wasn't ready.

"Nah," he replied, "Get a new one. Take whatever you need from the safe. Do it as quick as you can, eh Pol?"

She nodded, "I'll be off then Tommy, unless there's anything else?"

He shook his head, "Not tonight Pol."

She'd know what he was saying. It was all about to start. And he would need her help, raising a little girl. 

And, though he didn't even realise he was asking for it, he'd need her help sorting whatever it was he wanted with Rosie Jackson, because it was obvious that that wasn't going to be a smooth road.

She got up then, and laid a hand on his head, patting it briefly like he was a boy again before heading out the front way, slinging her own coat on against the October air.

Stubbing his cigarette out, Tommy got to his feet and wandered over to the range to see if Polly had left anything over from dinner for him. Which she hadn't, probably because she hadn't approved of the way he'd left. That had used to be Polly's special when she was left in charge of them, refusing to make whichever one of them had annoyed her anything to eat and sending them to bed on an empty stomach. Clearly she was still employing it as far as he was concerned. That was when it hit him that Rosie hadn't eaten either. She'd given Lily a biscuit and the sweets she'd bought on her earlier adventures when they'd gone to hers, left him sitting with her in their front room while she gathered together what they needed for a few nights, but she hadn't eaten anything. Christ, here he was offering to look after her and on the first night he'd forgotten to feed her.

He clattered about the kitchen, finding bread and jam and cursing himself that he didn't have anything better to offer her, before he started up the stairs, slowing to a halt when he heard her voice, singing softly, more slowly than the recorded version…

'And the country found them ready  
At the stirring call for men.  
Let no tears add to their hardships  
As the soldiers pass along,  
And though your heart is breaking,  
Make it sing this cheery song:  
Keep the home fires burning,  
While your hearts are yearning,  
Though your lads are far away,  
They dream of home.  
There's a silver lining,  
Through the dark clouds shining,  
Turn the dark cloud inside out  
'Til the boys come home.'

He laid his head against the wall, his hand shaking slightly. If he'd known her a year and a bit then they'd been home for than a year and a bit. And yet he wasn't sure he'd ever come home at all. That any of them had ever come home at all. Did she know that? Was she still waiting - and, if so, for who? No, no, he was being ridiculous – she was too young to have lost any sweetheart in the war.

No, this was simply a time where people had forgotten the lullabies his mother would have sang to him, the ones he vaguely remembered her singing to John and Ada. He wished now he had paid more attention. This was a time where the songs people knew by heart were war songs. And, as Sergeant Major, how many times had he instructed his men to sing them, to boost morale? Pack up your troubles in-fucking-deed. Truth be told, he had never wanted to hear another fucking song again in his whole life.

Or he hadn't wanted to. Her voice was pure though. Low, throaty. It cut through his heart and he realised his eyes had leaked a little as he stood there listening. But he wanted her to learn new songs.

He shoved his face into his elbow to scrub away any evidence of weakness and continued up. She was humming now, something wordless. He halted outside the door and knocked, maybe for the first time ever, on John's old bedroom door, suddenly aware that it wasn't his place to barge in, even in his own house. She hadn't shut the door right over though and it swung open.

The head of the bed was the first thing in his eye line and she was sitting on it, crushed into the corner at the top against the opposite wall, whilst her sister dozed on the pillow. Definitely needed Polly to sort that bed out with no delay.

She smiled at him and raised a finger to her lips, unnecessarily, glancing down at the child who had proclaimed she was 'not tired' not ten minutes before.

He smiled back at her and came over, holding up the plate, "Dinner. Sorry it's so pitiful, we missed Polly's far superior efforts," he said, his voice low and quiet, placing it down on the chest by the bed where she could reach it. He cleared his throat and shoved his hands in his trouser pockets, "You want tea? I didn't know what you took in it?"

She shook her head, "I'm okay, thanks."

"I'll eh – I'll do the fire," he murmured, crossing over to the empty grate, busying himself with filling it.

He was nervous, he realised. He didn't think he would have been, once he got them in his house. But now the room wasn't John's old room, as he'd come to think of it, wasn't John's old room that he was familiar with. It her their room now. He was in her space, not the other way about.

"You don't have to, we'll be fine," she whispered across the room.

"First night in this house you didn't get a decent meal and now you think I'll let you freeze to death. Maybe I'd have done you a favour if I handed you over to the parish instead."

He glanced over his shoulder at her and saw her glaring at him.

He sighed, "I'm chiding myself, not threatening you. You're quite safe."

When the fire had taken he stood up and crossed back. She hadn't touched the food, she's just watched him work.

"Eat," he told her, forcefully, inwardly wincing even as it came out. He didn't know why he did that sometimes, snapped at people when he didn't mean to. Ordered when he meant to make suggestions. He just couldn't help it. Sometimes he was cruel and it worked in his favour, kept his reputation intact. And sometimes he was cruel and it came out at people he cared about, people he hadn't meant to be cruel to, but it was like his brain jumped to the extremity of a situation and reacted to that rather than process the real potential of that extremity actually being the case.

"There's too much for me – you have half," she said, looking between the plate and him.

He rolled his eyes, "It's two bits of bread and jam."

"One each then."

"Is this you trying to make me eat so I'm not all smoke and drink and black lungs?"

"You're already made up of smoke and drink and black lungs Thomas Shelby, I wouldn't worry that a single bit of bread and jam will dilute you," she said with a snort, "No, this is me trying to make you eat so that that doesn't all get wasted. You've heaped enough jam on each bit there to do a whole loaf."

Tommy looked doubtfully at the bread but sighed and sat on the floor, taking the plate off the chest and helping himself to one of the bits, passing the plate up to her. He'd pacify her as long as she ate something.

They tucked in, and he realised the danger of his choice of sustenance as the jam seemed to slide everywhere with every bite he took. He hadn't eaten bread and jam in so long he couldn't remember if it had always been like that.

"Bloody messy," he grumbled, licking jam off of his fingers, trying to catch it before it fell off of the bread.

"That's because you've put too much on, I'll give you a lesson in spreading jam on bread tomorrow and then you'll know for next time."

"You'll give me a lesson, will you?" he said, raising his eyebrow.

"You clearly need one," she replied with a stifled laugh, as he just managed to catch a great blob of the stuff before it fell onto his suit.

"Give us the plate if you've finished yours," he demanded, holding out his hand for it, grateful that it could catch the drips on his behalf.

She shushed him, indicating the sleeping sister again, and he finished the supper in silence with no more jam related near-catastrophes and his dignity somewhat intact.

"Right," he said softly, standing, "I'm the door at the head of the stairs, you need anything you come get me."

"You take that room so no one could go up or down without you knowing about it?"

"Somethin' like that."

"And you're going to your bed now?"

"I'll wash up and lock up but more or less," he replied, indicating the plate in his hand, questioning her with his eyes.

"I just imagined the Peaky Blinders went out until the wee hours of the morning, flapping about like great bats in your big coats," she answered the question with a sly smile.

"Only when there's business. Or nothing keeping me home."

"I'm keeping you home, am I?" she questioned with a single eyebrow raise.

"Don't be so arrogant," he whispered with a grin, "I've had a hell of a day. Some local hero called for a day of skipping school, so I've spent the first half of the day worried as hell about my kid brother and sister, came home to find my sister didn't wag off school but did have an attitude problem I had to correct, and I'll tell you, doing that fair hurt my heart. Then I decided to adopt two tearaways and one of them needed her arse smacked a bit too when she gave me attitude about giving up a job she doesn't need to have, and instead of having a nice, contrite girl on my hands after the smacking, I got a mouthful about committing to having discussions, which I for some blasted reason went and agreed to – god knows why!" He threw up his hands, crumbs flying everywhere as the plate jerked and rolled his eyes at her as she snorted, her hand over her mouth, to try and reduce the sound, before continuing, "And added to that I've now found out the headteacher at the school is sadist who shouldn't be allowed near kids and I'm going to need to deal with that. So, no, Miss Jackson, you are not keeping me home - for once, my need for my bed is keeping me home!"

"Ah, you take too much on yourself Mr Shelby," she whispered back blithely.

"Bleeding heart, me," he said.

They regarded each other for a while, before he eventually said, "Well, goodnight Rosie."

"Goodnight Tommy," she replied, her smile small but sweet.

There wasn't much similarity between the two half sisters, but they shared the same small mouth. Lily looked like the church paintings of baby angels, whatever it was they had been called, cherubs maybe - he hadn't been in so long he couldn't remember - she was a pretty child, with her blonde hair and blue eyes; whereas Rosie was a wildfire - red hair and amber eyes and pale skin that flushed easily. But the smile was the same. 

He stuck his head into Finn's room on his way, unsurprised to see the boy fast asleep on his stomach. Finn's fire was dying a little, so he stoked it a bit and added more coal before checking in on Ada, who was not asleep but didn't even glance up at him as he entered the room and stayed silent as he stoked her fire too.

"'Night Ada," he called over his shoulder when he exited.

She snorted, "Good night for people who can sleep comfortably."

He shook his head chose to ignore her, rather than point out that the power of being able to lie in a position other than on her stomach was entirely in her own hands. She knew it fine well.

He headed down the stairs to do the plate and lock the doors as he'd said he would, before shutting himself into his own room.

He hadn't been lying entirely to Rosie, he was tired and he feel into a deep sleep. The first one in a while which was, thankfully, dreamless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kudos! 
> 
> The song she's singing is called Keep The Home Fires Burning, by Ivor Novello, which was popular during WWI in Britain - it's not my property nor that of the Peaky Blinders [unless they give old Ivor an ultimatum for it, because we all know they're accustomed to getting what they want ;) ]


	7. Chapter 7

"Polly, you got any bacon going?" Arthur shouted, bursting in to the kitchen from the betting shop, "Who are you?" his brother went on to demand when his eyes fell on Rosie – who had shrugged off Polly's help and was applying the cream to her welts herself.

Tommy laughed internally when he saw the look she gave him from over his brother's shoulder but figured he should intervene before Arthur decided to wipe it off her face himself.

He came up behind his brother and clapped his shoulder, "You've met her before Arthur, that's Rosie Jackson."

"Rosie Jackson that Finn went tagging around after yesterday?" his brother asked.

"The one and only," Tommy replied, catching her eye and smirking at her.

"Why's she in our kitchen at ten o'clock in the morning?"

"Tommy arrived home with her and her sister last night and announced they're moving in – as your brother is wont to do, obviously," Polly told him, rolling her eyes from behind the paper she wasn't really reading.

"Right," Arthur said, looking the girl up and down and nodding, processing the information.

"John!" Tommy shouted over his shoulder at his other brother, who was chalking things up on the board at the end, motioning him to come down the other end of the shop.

"I forgot to tell you," he told his younger brother, "I've given away your room so try not to fall behind with your rent, eh?"

"Right Tommy," John said, taking in the scene, then, jerking his head at Rosie, "You finally got a girl then, eh? You know you're supposed to share a room, yeah?"

Polly snorted.

"That's Rosie Jackson apparently, in the flesh," Arthur said to John.

"Not quite, I just had a touch of the bleedin' heart yesterday and decided to adopt this one and her sister into the family," Tommy said, ignoring Arthur, rocking on his feet and sliding his hands into his pockets.

"Always good when two new sisters arrive with no warning," Arthur quipped.

"This is Rosie," Polly said, glaring at Tommy for what she obviously considered to be his lack of proper introductions, "This is John."

"So how come I never heard of you until yesterday and then today you're in my old room?" John asked her.

She regarded him for a minute then said, "Well I never heard of you until yesterday when I found out the spare room I was taking was only spare because you'd moved."

John grinned, "That's not quite true, is it love? We're Peaky Blinders, everyone knows us."

She raised an eyebrow at him and returned to her hands, not replying.

"She's one of us now, so no infighting," Tommy announced.

"Polly, bacon?" Arthur repeated.

"I could go some bacon," John agreed.

Tommy resisted the urge to roll his eyes, clearly the moment's interest of the new addition wasn't enough to overcome his brothers' stomachs. He got the feeling that would suit her fine though, for all she seemed to have been happy to give the whole senior school a show on Monday she didn't seem to enjoy attention.

"Arthur, do you smell any bacon?" Polly snapped, "Away and do some work."

"Actually boys, get in the kitchen a minute before the new bandages go on," Tommy said, nodding at what Rosie was busy doing, "We've got some work to organise."

She seemed somewhat fed up of presenting her hands to people and gave him an irked look, but she allowed John and Arthur to examine her marks. As usual she didn't give voice to what had happened herself, his two brothers were treated to Polly's rendition of what she half-approvingly and half-disapprovingly termed Rosie's 'School Yard Heroics'.

He could tell that, like him, his brothers were quite impressed by her, but before they could blow up her head anymore – he had meant what he said to her about learning to give up her pride before she hanged for it – he started to make his point, "Those marks are why she's off school today – she can barely hold anything never mind write-"

"I think I'd be able to write fine now," she cut across him.

He gave her an icy stare, which she met – but she shut her mouth. Whether that was because she'd said everything she had to say or whether it was because his eyes had told her to, he didn't know.

"You'll slow them down from healing if you put pressure on them," he told her in a firm voice, after a few moments silent exchange between them, then, back to his brothers, "So when I took the lot of them who are in school there this morning, I went in to the office. This Dalton chap has agreed to take a meeting with us in his office tomorrow afternoon. Let's make it a nice end to his working week. His working life at that school if he knows what's good for him. If he doesn't know what's good for him, we'll arrange a meeting of our own."

"The lot of them?" John asked.

Tommy couldn't really blame him, that was the more unusual bit of what he had said than his ending comments.

"Ada, Finn and Lily," he said in reply, as though that was something that was blatantly obvious.

"You wait till you see the new baby Arthur, you were always sweet with babies," Polly said, "Though you'll have to join the queue for this one – and Tommy's at the front."

"Baby?" John asked.

"Lily - the other sister - she's six," Polly answered.

"A new little 'un and a new big 'un then," Arthur said, and Tommy gave a nod.

"Well, welcome to the family love," Arthur said, suddenly deciding to address Rosie directly again, "I don't suppose you'd be any good at doing us a bit of bacon?"

"There's no bacon Arthur, and I didn't keep her off school so she could busy her hands doing jobs for you," Tommy snapped.

"How do you know there's no bacon?" Polly asked him, clearly surprised.

"You didn't leave me any dinner last night Pol, I had to poke about the kitchen to see what I could drum up."

John snorted, "Aye, could tell you were in her bad books when you left here yesterday."

"I don't know if I'm more shocked at you having an inclination to eat in the first place or at you poking about this kitchen to find something rather than going and – and finding somebody to make you something," Polly said, eyeing Rosie and obviously deciding against saying that he would usually have found a whore who could cook if he took a notion for food.

"Wasn't my mouth I was trying to feed," he said, nodding at the girl.

"If he'd have told me you were coming I'd have left you some dinner love," Polly said to Rosie, reaching out and patting her arm, "It was him I had a mind to starve. Not that I had much faith it would even be noted."

"Oh, it's always noted Pol," Tommy said, his voice quiet.

He felt Rosie's eyes flick between him and his aunt and they both obviously saw Polly purse her lips and get ready to reply because the girl chimed out, "Polly, can you help me with these bandages please?" and distracted his aunt's attention.

His eyes met hers over Polly's shoulder and he nodded. He knew she didn't really need, or even, he suspected, want any help with the bandages. She didn't respond but looked back at her hands, watching Polly lock in the cream she'd smeared on with fresh strips of cloth.

"Right, back to work lads. These women have got things to do – stuff to go and buy – they don't need us in their way," Tommy instructed, turning to head back into the shop.

"Can you buy us a bit of bacon Pol?" Arthur shouted over his shoulder as he followed Tommy back into the shop.

"So, what's the real deal Tommy?" John asked, his eyes flicking between the doors that opened to the kitchen and his brother.

"You treat her like a sister John," he warned him, recognising the glint in John's eyes.

"So, she is for you then brother," Arthur replied with a grin, "About time."

Tommy didn't smile back.

"She's for business, Arthur," he replied, giving the answer he'd already decided on, an answer that was the truth, even if not in its entirety, "Girl took eight strokes with a cane without flinching – and you've seen the marks, three days later. She knows what we do, she keeps her mouth shut, she's got no family other than the sister. We look after the sister, we get her loyalty. And she's clever."

"Another one like you then, that's all we need – more cleverness," Arthur said, rolling his eyes while John sniggered.

"Seems to me my cleverness has suited you sitting in that office and being the boss without having to do much thinking of your own," Tommy remarked, lighting up a cigarette and raising an eyebrow at his brother.

"Tom, we agreed-" Arthur grumbled.

"Yeah, we did Arthur," Tommy cut across him, blowing a cloud of smoke.

"Ah it's alright Arthur," John said, clearly trying to break the tension that had suddenly arisen, "Polly said Tommy's lost his heart to a six-year-old, he's clearly going soft and losing his own brains, so hers'll just replace them."

Tommy tried to let the tension break, "Ah, you wait till you see that six-year-old. She'll be running the family soon, not sure it's in me to take her smile away by refusing her anything."

"Well when do we get to see her?" John asked.

"We'll have a family meeting tonight, five o'clock," Arthur said, "Mind them family meetings Tom? We used to have them before making big decisions like adopting two kids."

Tommy didn't say anything, he just turned and walked out of the front door of the shop, his hands in his pockets as he cut down Watery Lane.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

It was early afternoon, when Tommy had returned from his walk and Arthur's pride had subsided back to his usual agreeability, that Polly appeared in Tommy's office.

"How did it go?" he asked, though he had a fairly good idea from her face.

"We got a bed – eventually. Rackham's are delivering it Saturday."

He nodded and kept his eyes on her. She didn't say anything.

"And the rest Polly?" he prompted, irritably.

"What rest?" she snapped, "She doesn't think she needs a coat, or shoes, or clothes of any kind."

"I didn't ask you to let her think about it, Pol - she's fifteen."

"Maybe in human years but I'd bet that girl's not been a child since the day and hour she were born," Polly retorted.

He nodded, "I'll give you that."

"Truth be told Thomas, if she was any other fifteen-year-old I'd have bought a hairbrush while we were in the shop and dragged her to the fitting room to apply it to her rear end, but she gets that same disconcerting look in her eye that you do yours – and god only knows how because her eyes have got as much fire in them as yours do ice so how they can look the same I don't rightly understand!"

He processed that, then looked back at his aunt, frustration etched into her face. There weren't many who could get the better of Polly.

"Leave it with me. If she needs brought in line, I'll bring her in line," he eventually said.

"You'll be the only bloody one Thomas."

He had figured that anyway.

"If I get her a coat that fits her can you get her size off of it to get everything else?" he asked, not looking at Polly as he formulated a plan.

"I suppose so, though how you'll get her into a coat I don't know."

" _I_ won't give her a choice Polly," he told his aunt, reaching for his cigarette case.

She snorted, making her feelings on that quite clear, and he heard her light a cigarette of her own. But even the smell of the two cigarettes didn't cover the new smell wafting from the kitchen.

"Bacon," Arthur said, appearing out of his office and following his nose.

"Yeah – fucking bacon," Polly said, rolling her eyes, "That was the only bloody thing she showed any enthusiasm for buying."

Tommy rolled his own eyes and stubbed out the cigarette he had just lit before getting up, passing by where Arthur had come to a stop at the kitchen doors and going to where she stood at the range, grabbing the tongs off of her and resisting the urge to smack her with them.

"I told you I was keeping you off so you could rest your hands – not so you could faff about with this," he snapped at her, waving the tongs to indicate the pan of bacon.

"Give me them back," she snapped back at him, grasping for the tongs, which he promptly held above his own head, out of her reach.

She folded her arms and glared at him, so he flicked her cheek with his free hand and turned to the pan, deciding to ignore her.

"Oh, so are you going to do it?" she asked sarcastically, trying to push him aside, reaching for the handle of the frying pan.

"Do you think I don't know how to fry bacon?" he asked her in return, rolling his eyes and pushing her back, swinging the handle around out of her reach.

"Well you don't know how to spread jam on bread and given this involves flames it seems a step up in the cookery levels," came the smart retort.

He let the ghost of a smile touch his lips as he looked sideways at her, "Well we can start the bloody lessons when your hands are back to normal," he told her.

She returned a slight upturn of the corners of her own mouth.

"Are you – Tommy - are you going to let her talk to you like that?" Arthur asked from behind them, a mix of both amusement and incredulity in his tone.

She whipped her head round, clearly not having realised that Arthur, John and Polly had gathered in the doorway, all three of them watching the exchange. Tommy saw a slight panic in her eye – she clearly wasn't at ease enough yet that she didn't mind people hearing her.

"She's in recovery at the minute Arthur," Tommy answered his brother, flipping the bacon over, "I'm just saving it all up for when she's healed."

She narrowed her eyes at him as he grinned at her and her gaze flicked between the brothers, before settling, to his surprise, on Arthur.

"Given this bacon was bought for you, it'd be the decent thing for you to be on my side Arthur Shelby," she said, and Tommy turned to catch his brother's eye.

"Christ – is he laughing? Actually laughing?" Arthur said to John, pulling a face, "Or am I going right fuckin' barmy? 'Ere, pinch me so I know I'm awake."

"You're awake Arthur," Tommy replied, turning back to the pan.

"Right, well you," Arthur said to Rosie, sitting at the table, pulling out the chair next to him and smacking his hand down on it, "Can come sit next to me. I want to know what witchcraft it is you have up your sleeve that draws blood from the stone that is my little fuckin' brother."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"They like you," Tommy said, lighting his cigarette as he and Rosie walked along to the junior school to make their first pick up.

"They're not too bad," she replied, her hands stuffed in her pocket as she scuffed along behind him.

"Pick up your fucking feet," he said, glancing down, taking in the boots she had on, "Or do they not fit you right either?"

She sighed, clearly expecting it, "My things fit me fine Tommy."

He snorted but she didn't respond, so they walked the rest of the way in silence.

Lily was delighted to see them waiting for her and she ran across to her sister, throwing her arms around her waist.

Rosie looked slightly perturbed for a minute, then patted her sisters head, saying, "God, if I'd known you'd be this happy to see me I'd have left school to come for you more often."

"How does she normally get home?" Tommy asked.

"Walks to the senior school and waits for me if I'm not working, walks home if I am," Rosie answered, a challenge in her eyes over the top of her sister's head.

Tommy nodded, not saying anything. He could hardly judge. And she seemed to have been doing a good job with the raising of the child as far as he could see.

"Good day Lily?" Tommy asked, reaching out a hand to her when she removed her head from Rosie's waist.

She smiled and took the hand he had offered and they set off, him walking slowly so she could keep step beside him. He was tempted to pick her up and carry her, but that didn't really work with his plan.

"We're going to go collect Finn and Ada, eh?" he said, and she nodded up at him, still smiling. "They'll be so excited to see you."

"Finn and Ada? I'm sure she'll be delighted at a walk home with her brother instead of…" Rosie began sarcastically, then trailed off, glancing down at her sister.

"Instead of what?" Tommy asked, narrowing his eyes at her over her sister's head.

"Instead of going with her friends," she replied.

"Right," he nodded and let it go, but filed the information away to be returned to at a later point, "Lily why don't you take your sister's hand on that side, eh? Just be careful and mind that her hands are sore. But not too loose, don't want to lose either of you."

The redhead's eyes went sharply to him but, looking at her sister's outstretched hand, she slowly withdrew her hand from her pocket and allowed Lily to latch on.

"Big walk ahead of us Lily, we've got lots to do today - make sure you hold you sister tight as you can without hurting her," he continued, looking ahead and avoiding the fiery eyes he could feel drilling into the side of his face, "Y'see Lily, your sister is all wrong to doubt me, Ada will want to come with her family after school today. She'll want to come because we're all going to town for new winter coats. Yup. All of us. And we all get one or none of us get one, because that's how it works in this family Lily."

"Tommy!" Rosie snapped.

"And hell mend anyone who tries to stand in the way of Ada getting something new to wear, I wouldn't fancy that person's chances at all," he said, his eyes still focussed ahead of him.

"Bloody hell Tommy!"

"Lily love, do you fancy giving your sister a good smack for me for her bad language?" Tommy said, ignoring Rosie and looking down with a smile at the little one.

She giggled and shook her head in response.

"Ah, now, she's lucky it's you that's walking in the middle and not me then, eh?"

He saw a pull on Lily's arm and realised Rosie had dug her heels in and stopped walking. But he knew she wouldn't have a full-blown argument in front of her sister.

"C'mon you, stop dragging your feet – we need to get the other two and get into town and back out," he called over his shoulder, still refusing to look properly at her, though he was sure the look on her face would be a picture; then, down to Lily, "Arthur, that's my oldest brother Lily, he wants a family meeting at five o'clock, so we don't have a lot of time y'see. Him and John, my younger brother, they are so excited to meet you and to see your new coat. You got a favourite colour Lily?"

"Yellow."

"Yellow hmm? Well will we try and get you a yellow coat? A yellow coat for the girl with the yellow hair?"

And then he walked the rest of the way to the senior school with a satisfied smirk on his face.


	8. Chapter 8

"What on earth?" he heard Rosie mutter as she opened the door into the front room after work on Saturday. 

Tommy glanced up from where he sat sifting through a ledger, watching her eyes travel across the scene, taking in Ada sitting in front of the fire with her hair in a mess of strips, Polly sitting behind her and wrapping the hair round her fingers, Lily sitting beside them and holding a bundle of cloth, watching the process intently.

"This is Ada's Saturday night ritual of trying to get her hair to be like Mary Pickford's," Polly told the bemused girl in the doorway.

"Rosie!" Lily looked up, away from the hair and smiling, "I'm helping!" she told her, brandishing the bundle of cloth.

"Uh-huh," Rosie replied, glancing with softened eyes at her sister and shutting the door but still clearly not following any of the scene she was viewing.

"The new bed came," Lily babbled on excitedly, "It's huge! Tommy says you'll get a much better sleep now and Ada said your hair might not stick out in all directions as much if you lie down like a normal person instead of sleeping sitting up."

Tommy watched Ada jut her chin out defiantly at the redhead, as if she thought the girl would contest that her hair stuck out all over the place. Rosie didn't say anything, but Tommy noticed her hand flick and then be still, as if she'd been going to pat her hair and then thought better of it.

"Yeah, Ada did say that," he said, moving his eyes back to the numbers, "And Ada learned what happens when we're rude about family."

"Yeah but Tommy says and does whatever he likes," Ada said darkly, then, "Ouch, Aunt Pol that was tight."

"Sorry Ada, just trying to get your hair to keep the curl," he heard Polly reply sardonically, "Ada's hair doesn't take a curl, she's jealous yours does."

"I don't know if my hair curls so much as it does just stick out," Rosie replied evenly, her eyes meeting Ada's.

"The top of your hair looks like Mary Pickford's," Ada replied, an almost accusatory note in her voice, "It's just you don't have the pretty ringlets at the bottom. You might if you grew it longer, why don't you grow it longer?"

Tommy cleared his throat, not raising his eyes, but Lily chattered on, oblivious, which stopped him going any further.

"We got a yellow cover for the bed, Aunt Polly and me went to the shop to pick it out because she said you were no help when it came to picking out things."

"I said you hadn't even seemed to want a new coat when we got them on Thursday," Ada added in, her voice making it quite clear that she couldn't understand that at all, her eyes going up and down Rosie's body, still currently adorned with the old coat.

"And we looked for a green one because green's your favourite colour, but they didn't have a green one. Aunt Polly said it was a miracle you got a green coat, but it was a good miracle because it looks nice with your hair, and then she said she didn't really know the real miracle was that we got one or that you agreed to get one. And she said Tommy was daft to think I'd get a yellow winter coat and no wonder we didn't find one, but she said maybe when it gets warmer I could get a yellow raincoat."

"Hmm," was all Rosie offered in response, blinking at the girl jabbering away on the carpet.

"Aunt Polly says a lot," Tommy contributed, glancing sideways at the girl. He caught her eye and held it for a moment, before looking back at the figures in the book and saying, "You going to go see if you like the bits and pieces Lily and Polly picked? And take your shoes off, they'll be all wet with mud - Polly'll 'ave you if you trail it through."

She didn't say anything, but out of the corner of his eye he watched as she removed her boots - boots he fully intended to throw away if Polly had guessed correctly at the size of the boots she had bought for her in Rackham's earlier – and flicked his eyes down as she made her way across the room, carrying them with her.

She had been gone approximately two seconds when there was a loud, "Jesus fucking Christ!" and she reappeared.

He frowned up at her, to find her glaring at him. He glanced to Lily, who was looking at her sister with wide eyes, and back, raising his eyebrows. Without discussing it, they had come to some sort of agreement that she could swear around him and not around anyone else – and she had seemed not to swear around her sister as a matter of course anyway, other than the odd bloody.

"You might have fucking warned me Thomas," she growled, anger at whatever he hadn't warned her about – which he had expected to be the contents of the room upstairs and which he knew she hadn't got to in such a small amount of time – clearly outranking any care of language she had.

He heard Polly click her tongue, but neither he nor Rosie glanced at his aunt.

"Warned you about what?" he asked, shaking his head slightly and widening his eyes at her to show it was a genuine question.

She didn't answer, and he had the distinct impression he was supposed to know the answer already, but before he could push her for more of a response, they were interrupted by a soft thudding noise.

Rosie looked down and grabbed Lily's wrist to stop her hand landing again, "What do you think you're playing at?" she demanded, in a voice far harsher than she'd normally use with her sister - that he'd so far seen anyway.

"Tommy said to give you smacks for bad language," Lily said, a mischievous smile being offered to him from the younger sister.

He didn't return it, aware of Rosie glaring at him. Her eyes shifted to her sister, whose wrist she was still holding, and Lily stuck out her tongue in a childish defiance. The older sister noted the action, raised an eyebrow and turned her eyes back on him.

Tommy got up and crossed the couple of steps to be where they stood. Her eyes told him to get it fixed, and he owed her that, it was his fault.

"Lily," he said, his eyes on Rosie's as he crouched, moving them slowly to Lily's.

"Yeah?"

"I shouldn't have said that – it was a joke and I didn't make that very clear. I'm sorry. I knew you wouldn't do it when I said it, so I don't know what's changed between Thursday and now."

The child frowned, and he wasn't sure if he'd made himself clear or not this time either.

"Lily – you can't smack your sister – you need to do what she tells you and you need to respect her, eh?" he said, his voice a little more stern, "I know what I said, but I didn't mean it and I thought you understood that. I thought you knew we were having a joke."

The girl started to look uncertainly between him and her sister, who still gripped her wrist. He met Rosie's eyes. She still wasn't happy. God damn it. He wondered if she'd had a particularly rough day at work.

He rubbed his nose with his hand then looked more sharply at Lily, "You can't be my best girl if you stick out your tongue at your sister and don't do what she tells you, you understand?"

The girl nodded slowly, her eyes suddenly looking watery.

"So - you won't do it again, will you?" he asked, softening his voice a little, not enjoying the look on her face at all.

She shook her head this time.

"Good, so you can keep being my best girl then," he said, giving her a reassuring smile, and taking her free hand to give it a squeeze. Bloody hell, he was round her finger alright.

"Will you say sorry to your sister then?" he said, not letting go of her hand.

The child looked up at her older sister and mumbled her apologies and Tommy looked to Rosie, checking with her if it would suffice. Something flickered in her eyes and he wasn't entirely sure it was okay, but she released the wrist.

"Okay, you go back and help Ada and Aunt Polly some more Lily love, eh?" he said, drawing her hand to his mouth to bestow a kiss on it and sending her back over to his aunt, who pulled her back down beside her, placing an arm around her.

Rosie's eyes stayed on her sister for a minute before flicking back down to him. He got up from his crouch slowly, not breaking their eye contact. She didn't say anything.

He cleared his throat. She still didn't say anything.

"I'm sorry about that," he eventually said quietly, deciding he would give in first and break the silence, "I shouldn't have said it – I didn't mean to undermine you.

"Did he just say sorry?" Ada said, loudly.

He thought about moving his eyes to glare at her, but he decided he wanted to sort things with Rosie more than he wanted to sort his lump of a sister out. And besides, he had apologised. And he couldn't pretend that happened often. He hedged his bets that Rosie knew that too.

She held his gaze for a moment, during which he didn't even breathe, and eventually she blinked and gave a small nod.

"Thank you," he murmured, meaning it.

She moved her eyes towards the door, not looking at him or the three by the fire. Part of him wanted to grab hold of her chin until her eyes moved to him again, but he realised he couldn't. Not with her sister sitting watching them. He'd have to be more careful.

He kept his voice soft, asking her, "Now, what do you think I didn't warn you about in the kitchen?"

She exhaled through her nose, loudly, then moved her eyes back to him and said, "Finn."

"Finn – what are you doing in there?" Tommy shouted through to the kitchen, his voice suddenly loud and stern again.

"I'm not doing anything Tommy," came the voice from the next room.

Tommy pulled a face at Rosie – inviting her to explain.

"He's not bloody doing anything but he's - he's bloody naked," she snapped.

Tommy looked at her outraged face for a moment, then rolled his lips to stop the laughter coming to him.

"It's bath night," Lily supplied, somewhat timidly.

Rosie moved her gaze from Tommy over to her sister for a second, before moving back to meet his eyes, still angry as far as he could see.

"Saturdays are bath night," he told her, still unsure what was angering her.

"Yes – well – I gathered!" she spluttered, "But you might think to – to warn people that other people are bathing before sending them into places unaware – bloody hell Tommy, I nearly saw – saw things that aren't appropriate."

Tommy couldn't contain his laugh any longer as he listened to Polly and Ada dissolve behind him.

"I'm not laughing at you," he said, trying to control it, "It's not – I mean – I can see you're upset. But we're all – we don't carry much shame around the natural state in this family. My mother would shove me and Arthur in the tub together when we were little."

"When you were little, sure – but Finn's not so little he's fitting anyone else in with him. I mean – Jesus Christ Tommy!"

"Alright, alright, I'm sorry," he said, managing to contain his smile, "You just sit in here until Finn's done."

He sat back down and picked up the ledger, leaving the spot next to him on the couch open, but she crossed the room and sat in the single chair.

He ran his thumb over his lower lip, he could see she was still perturbed. He didn't know how to handle that, she's always been perfectly collected anytime he'd seen her in the shop. It was new to him. She didn't look at any of them or say anything. Polly exchanged a glance with him and he shook his head – telling his aunt to let the girl alone.

It was bizarre to him, that she was so worked up over seeing Finn bathing, but then – she had one sister. He had three brothers, a sister and an aunt who grew up next to them… And when they'd visited gypsy camps… And when he'd been at war… He supposed he had just never really gained any ideas of modesty, there hadn't been room for them in his life.

"Lily," she eventually said, her gaze focussed somewhere on the ceiling, "Did you have a bath?"

"Yeah," Lily said, her head cocked at her sister, who still wasn't looking at her.

"Right," came the short reply, with a small nod. Still no eye contact.

"I went first cause Aunt Polly said I was the least dirty, and Ada takes ages," Lily told her sister, a note of uncertainty in her voice.

The tone of her sister's voice obvious shook her a little, and Rosie moved her eyes down from the ceiling to the blond child on the floor and gave her a small smile, "That's good."

"Aunt Polly says she'll curl my hair like Ada's if I want, to see if it works any better on me than it usually does on her."

With some effort Rosie smiled properly then and said, "I don't know why anyone with nice tidy hair like yours would want it all curly and wild."

"It won't be wild," Ada said, rolling her eyes, "You brush it down. You heard of a hairbrush?"

"Ada's heard of a hairbrush," Tommy stuck in, "In fact, Polly's made sure she's right familiar with both sides of it. For all the good it seems to do either end of her."

Ada glared at him, but he ignored her, continuing to pretend to be interested in the figures in front of his face but listening intently to the room.

"Well there's no school tomorrow so I suppose if it goes like mine we can wet it down and it'll dry normally," Rosie said to her sister, ignoring Ada and Tommy.

She never seemed to rise to Ada at all, which he liked. But he wasn't sure that Ada wasn't still getting to her, without her showing it.

"It's for church tomorrow," Lily told her.

"Church tomorrow?" she questioned with a raised eyebrow.

"Yeah. I got a new dress today for it."

The redhead sighed, seemingly before she could contain herself and ran her fingers through her own untidy head before saying, "So you're going to church tomorrow in a new dress, are you?"

He wondered again what was eating at her – something clearly was.

"Yeah, so are you," Lily replied.

She narrowed her eyes at him across her sister's head, and he met her gaze, realising it was no use pretending he didn't know he was in this conversation.

"Am I indeed?" she asked, her voice tight.

She ignored the response her sister gave and continued to look at him, "I don't recall discussing that."

"You're Catholic, aren't you?" he asked her, shrugging. He hadn't discussed it with her, but he hadn't really thought to.

"Not particularly," she replied, her voice biting.

"We are, Molly said so," Lily said, furrowing her brows at her sister.

Tommy looked between the furrowed brows on both sisters.

"Who's Molly?" Finn asked, appearing in the doorway, wrapped in a blanket.

Rosie raised her eyes to the ceiling again as Finn crossed to sit next to Tommy on the couch.

"Molly – she – she used to live with us sometimes," Lily said, concentrating hard, as if recalling something she couldn't quite remember, "She doesn't anymore though. But she said – she said we were Catholic because we had been washed of her sins that way."

"Lily!" snapped the older sister, the fiery eyes flashing down to burn into the blue ones.

Lily's lower lip trembled at the tone.

"We don't talk about her. She's gone. Forget her," Rosie said, leaning forward in the chair, holding the younger girl's gaze, her voice still hard.

Tommy recognised the tone. He used it himself, frequently, but he wasn't used to being on the listening end of it.

Lily burst into tears.

The older sister took a deep breath and then, her voice considerably lighter, "Lily, I'm sorry – c'mere," she said, holding out her arms for the girl to go to. "I'm not angry with you," she told her, pulling her sister into her lap, wiping her face with her hands, rubbing her back to soothe her, "Lily, it's okay, it's okay, I'm not angry. It's just better if you forget her, eh? Can you try and do that for me? Please?"

Realisation washed over him then. The girl had probably grown up watching men and her mother in various stages of nakedness. No bloody wonder seeing Finn naked in the tub had alarmed her. He began to wonder then if there was more to her oversized clothes and bobbed hair than he had originally thought. And if so - Christ, what had he done? A wave of panic followed the realisation. For what might have been the first time in his adult life since they had come home, Tommy Shelby confronted the idea he might have underestimated the situation he had waded into.

He glanced at Polly, and it was his aunt's turn to shake her head at him. He hadn't been going to say anything anyway, not now.

"Hey, Lily," Rosie was saying to the girl in her lap, who had quietened but not entirely calmed, "Do you want to go show me this bed cover you picked, eh? Yellow?"

Her sister sniffed and nodded, and Rosie got to her feet carefully, her sister still in her arms.

"You like green," the child said into her sister's neck, where her face was buried.

"Yeah I do," Rosie agreed, picking her way across the small room, stroking the back of the blond head, "But I like yellow too. Yellow makes me think of you Lily, so I might actually like it more than green sometimes…"

The voices trailed off as she carried her sister away through the shop and up the stairs, her low, hushing tones not carrying even through the thin walls.

"What was that?" Ada asked tactlessly, looking between her two brothers and her aunt.

"That was something we don't talk about," Tommy responded, standing, "And I swear to God Ada, you say one more single thing about her hair or her clothes and you won't sit for a month of Sundays, y'hear?"

She glared at him, her face obstinate, but he widened his eyes at her and she relented, nodding sullenly.

"I told you the other day when we went through it Ada, I don't bloody want to have to do that again – I didn't fucking enjoy walloping you with that brush. But I don't want an attitude from you to anyone in this family – and she's in this family now, alright?"

Ada nodded again, slightly less sullenly this time. His eyes left his sister, done with that interaction, and he picked up the boots Rosie had abandoned by the single chair in favour of filling her arms with her sister. He sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose, then headed out the room after them, walking slowly whilst he tried to consider what to say.


	9. Chapter 9

"Now what was the point in getting a bed for both of us if I get chucked out for the doll and the bears to get in?" he heard Rosie ask her sister from inside the room when he reached the top of the stairs.

"They don't take up much space," he heard Lily reply.

"Well I suppose it is a very big bed," she conceded, "But you still like Sylvia Bear, right?"

"I love Sylvia Bear," corrected Lily earnestly, "But now her and Tommy can be friends."

Rosie snorted, "So the new bear is called Tommy?"

"Yeah."

"Any reason why?"

"Cause apparently you two like to liken me to animals," he said, pushing the door open, putting her boots down in the corner and sticking his hands in his pockets, "Not sure what I like best – the baboon, the bat or the bear."

"I didn't think you'd particularly liked the baboon suggestion at all," Rosie said dryly, not looking at him.

She was standing by the edge of the bed, whilst Lily stood on it, clasping her new bear and smiling at him over her sister's shoulder. Clearly the upset of earlier had already passed for the child - because six-year-olds were that easy. He was under no illusions that the six-year-old's sister was also going to be that easy.

He cleared his throat and rocked on his feet.

"I didn't like it," he told her, "But there are parts of myself I don't like sometimes – sometimes I notice them at the time, other times I notice my baboon tendencies with the benefit of hindsight."

"Did you give the doll a name?" Rosie asked her sister, not acknowledging his words.

"Well I was going to call her Arthur but Ada said I couldn't because that's a boy's name," Lily said, her brow creased to show she still didn't understand Ada's reasoning, "So I called her Ada instead."

"That's nice. Did Ada like that?" she asked, and Lily smiled and nodded in return.

She sounded quite genuine, which Tommy was slightly surprised at.

"Did you name anything Polly by any chance?" she asked her sister.

"No, but Aunt Polly bought me a book called Pollyanna, it's next to your books," Lily said, jumping off the bed, laying the bear down next to her other toys and grabbing her sister's hand to pull her towards the books that lay on top of the newly added chest of drawers at the other end of the room, opposite the foot of the bed.

They had taken the chest from his parents' old room, emptying out the contents to drop in at the parish authorities with Rosie's old things, and it was now filled with new clothes for the redhead – clothes Polly and Ada and Lily had picked between them. The suitcase she had brought lay at the side, holding the toys and games Lily had chosen to bring when they'd returned to the house.

"See," Lily said, struggling up on her tip toes to reach the top of the chest and pointing at the smallest book, which her older sister picked up and turned over in her hands.

"I told her I didn't like books and that you liked books and I just liked hearing the stories from you, but she said I should have a book of my own. And Ada said they sometimes show Pollyanna at the picture house and she'll take me if they do. But I don't think it's about Aunt Polly."

Rosie snorted, "I assure you, it's not."

"Have you read it?" he asked her, trying to remind her that he was in the room.

"Have you?" she shot back.

He realised she had not forgotten he was in the room in the slightest but was actively not engaging with him.

"Can't say I have, but maybe Lily will tell me about, will you Lily, once you've read it?" he said, hoping the sister might draw him in better. He was still nervous about invading their space.

Probably realising he wasn't going to allow her to freeze him out so easily, she replied, "It's about counting your blessings and being glad even when bad things happen." 

But she still didn't look at him.

"A good lesson for us all, eh Lily?" he said, since the child was looking over at him.

"Not convinced it's not a way to brainwash the children born into poverty and hardship in this world that they should pretend to be okay with it," she mused to the chest, as if he hadn't spoken.

"Children born into poverty and hardship in this world often can't read, and they don't get books," he replied, his voice even.

"So, if someone gets you a book you should be grateful?" came the snippy retort.

He exhaled loudly.

"Lily my love," he said, "Would you mind going back down and helping Aunt Polly and Ada again while me and your sister have a boring adult conversation?"

The girl looked between them, then nodded once her sister did.

Tommy patted her on the head on her way by, saying, "Good girl Lily," which earned him another of the child's winning smiles.

God help him when the day came that she needed anything other than a stern tone and a threat of not being his best girl anymore to keep her in line. Though there had been a time he thought that of Ada.

Rosie was still stood down at the other end of the room, looking at the books on the new chest.

"Most of them books are for you," he said, "I asked for popular books that aren't too romantic."

"You think I don't like romance?" she said, not turning to him.

"I don't know," he replied, not knowing what to say at all.

Truthfully, no – he didn't think she would like romance. Or he hadn't thought so. Lily had told him that Rosie liked books set in the real world and didn't like the Alice in Wonderland book she liked, the only book she had brought from the old house. And he knew Rosie's tongue. And he knew her humour. And he knew how little interest she showed in being pretty around the boys she hung about with. And now he reckoned that maybe there was more to that sharp tongue and lack of embroidered dresses than a simple distaste for all the things Ada lost her head over.

"You don't know as much about me as you think you do Thomas Shelby," she said.

He sat down on the bed and rubbed his hands in his face. He wanted a cigarette, but something in him told him he didn't deserve the fucking crutch during this conversation.

She turned and lent against the chest then, staring at him where he sat on the new double bed, the yellow cover Lily had picked out spread across it, her new bear and doll – named for him and Ada – lying atop one of the pillows, her old bear – Sylvia (he wondered vaguely who that had been named for) – next to them.

He met her eyes, expecting her glare, but when he looked at her - her oversized old clothes that she had worn to work that morning drowning her, her hair indeed looking like it had never become acquainted with a hairbrush - he realised that, really, she just looked tired. She had folded the coat over the edge of the bed rail, and it hung there, limp and done – and she looked like the human equivalent.

"Lily showed me the books already Thomas," she said, "And she showed me all the clothes in this chest. And the shoes and boots too."

He looked at her, not sure what he was supposed to say.

He ended up saying, "You wore the old coat to work, so Polly got the size of the new coat and used that to guess the rest." And as soon as it was out his mouth he was sure it wasn't the right thing to say.

"Where are my clothes Thomas?" she asked him, her voice quiet.

Two Thomases in a row.

He got to his feet and paced what little he could in the room – the length of the bed and back a few times, wishing they were having this discussion somewhere with more space. All the while she stood completely still, watching him. Eventually he came to a halt, not quite daring to go near her exactly, but at the same end of the room as her and said, "I'm sorry."

She looked at him and there was still an annoyance in her, but he felt safer crossing to stand in front of her. He wanted to put his arms around her, and hold her, and smooth her unruly hair, and tell her to get to her bed because up close the circles under her eyes were as black as she seemed to imagine his lungs were. But he didn't do any of that. He shoved his hands in his pockets and wished he had a cigarette to blacken his lungs.

"I'm used to getting my own way – you know that," he told her.

She nodded.

"And I forget sometimes that just because I see things a certain way doesn't mean everybody does. And to be fair to me, Rosie, your clothes weren't new when you bought them, and they needed replaced – truth be told I tried to hand your bloody clothes in to the parish and they wouldn't take them. The bloody parish didn't want your clothes because they weren't fit to hand on!" he had started gently but his usual harsh tone had crept in and by the end he was admonishing her, exactly as he was trying not to do.

And he wasn't even angry with her. He was just angry at the situation – at the fact she'd had to wear those worn out clothes. Hell, she could wear men's clothes if that was what she wanted – he'd take her down to the bloody shop himself and buy her them. She could take all the clothes back and buy them all in sizes far too big for her if that made her happy. He didn't give a damn what she actually wore. He just wanted what she wore to be half decent. But, of course, his voice had gone harsh and he was glaring and it looked like he was blaming her for her clothes and he didn't bloody well know how to stop it coming across like that.

"It wasn't your choice to make, Thomas," she said, that steel grit in her own tone.

He looked down at his own boots, trying not to give her any more stern looks that he didn't really intend, and noticed her socks. They looked a lot like the ones he had worn in the trenches and confirmed to him that the boots she had been wearing over them were far too big for her.

He kept his gaze on them for a bit, trying to curb his natural attitude, before looking back up at her, continuing as softly as he could manage, "The thing is Rosie, your clothes weren't fit for purpose. If you had worn those clothes into this winter, you'd have got pneumonia and then where would Lily be?"

She glared at him then, as she did whenever Lily's potential less than perfect wellbeing was raised.

"I tried to get you to pick things yourself with Polly during the week," he told her, "And you wouldn't pick anything."

"I told you, I don't want your charity."

"You agreed to the deal – I provide food and shelter and whatever you and Lily need, and you go to school and do as you're told."

"And we had a deal about discussions."

"I know. That's why I'm apologising Rosie. I should have sat you down and made you see this my way, not just gone and done it – I'm just… I'm used to my family accepting most of what I say and not needing to discuss things. So, it's new to me. I'm apologising for not upholding my end of that."

She glanced into his eyes, then looked off to the side, processing what he had said. But she didn't say anything, so he continued.

"But I'm not apologising for buying you clothes that are actually fit for purpose. Leaving you running around in those worn out things would be me not taking care of you, in my book, and I want to take care of you," he told her, letting it hang before adding, "Of both of you."

She nodded and he was hopeful for a minute, but then she seemed almost to physically sag, as though a great weight was on her shoulders.

"Tommy I'm not – I'm honestly not trying to seem ungrateful," she sighed, suddenly also becoming very interested in his boots and her own socks, "But the clothes and the shoes and the books and the bed – it's just so much. It's – it's overwhelming."

She looked up at him then and her eyes were overwhelming to him, with a million stories in them and, he was fairly sure, if she'd been anyone else there would have been tears in them alongside those stories. But she wasn't anyone else. And the vulnerability there was almost harder to take in its subtleties.

"I know. I realise that, in hindsight," he said, nodding.

"Fucking baboon," she replied, with an attempt at a smile that she couldn't quite commit to.

His heard thudded.

"I've said I'm sorry – and I am. I won't keep apologising to you, it's not who I am," he told her, a note of frustration creeping into his voice, "But I need you to know that I might not always handle things the right way – I know I'm a hard man to be around sometimes – but, as far as you and Lily are concerned, I mean to do the right thing. My intentions are good, even if my actions can be… not ideal, at times. Alright?"

She regarded him for a while, then, slowly, nodded.

"Right," he said, nodding, then – hoping they were done - he suggested, "Will we go back down? Lily missed you today – you're the only thing she talked about all day, everywhere we went it was Rosie this and Rosie that. Ada kept trying to get you a bunch of things she liked and Lily was insistent that you didn't like bows and frills. I think Ada was quite put out at her tastes being challenged."

He smiled at her, but he didn't get a reaction, even to make fun of his sister, so he pushed on, "And I've told Ada to leave you alone, by the way."

"You leave Ada alone," she replied, frowning at him, "Ada's just defending her territory."

He gave her a brief look of confusion then shook his head, "Alright then, you and Ada have your – your turf war. But she bothers you, you let me know."

"I can take care of myself Thomas."

"I know you can. But you shouldn't have to. And you agreed to let me shove myself into your life, and all that comes with that," he said grinning at her, trying again to produce a proper smile from her in return.

His efforts failed.

"I doubt I've scraped the surface of all that comes with you Thomas Shelby."

He nodded, "True - I might have more animals to add to my bat, bear, baboon combination personality. You can name them as you find them."

She fixated on the bear on the bed then.

He sighed, "What else is going on in that head of yours? Talk to me?"

"Tommy, I- I know why I agreed to this. And Lily was-"

"I know, Lily was your reason for it," he nodded.

She looked at him for a moment, then seemed to let something pass, and looked down again, not meeting his eye.

"She doesn't usually take to people, but she's taken to you – to all of you," she said, chewing on her lip, "And down there tonight – she just chatted away, and she barely speaks to people usually."

"So?"

"So - I'm worried I've held her back Thomas – you say you're not easy to be around, I'm well aware I'm bloody difficult to be around myself. And I just – I see her with you all and I think – I think maybe I've been really bloody selfish keeping her, maybe I should have – should have handed her over to the parish," she said, breaking off and trying to breathe as tears that she couldn't hold eventually spilled over her eyes.

Tommy couldn't contain himself anymore either, his hands were out his pockets and his arms around her then before he could even think about it, one hand over her shoulders, one on the back of her head, burying his face into the top of her head and murmuring gypsy words of comfort that she wouldn't understand.

He felt her take some deep breathes before she continued on, but though she tilted her head up to meet his eyes, she didn't remove herself from his hold, "I love her Tommy, I really do. And I'm seeing you give her this stuff and you say she needs it and she probably does and I – I couldn't give it to her. I mean – did I have any business keeping her? I know it sounds stupid, but I just – I don't begrudge her any of it. And that's what I mean – I'm honestly not trying to seem ungrateful, not just for what you've got for me but for her too – but I just look at it and it makes me so ashamed and so angry that I couldn't do that for her. And I just think I'm a selfish bitch to have kept her when I couldn't do that – couldn't give her all that."

"Jesus Christ, Rosie," he said, cradling her into him, "I didn't mean to make you feel like that."

"Fucks sake Tommy, I'm not trying to make you feel guilty," she said, sniffing and striking his chest with her fist in an effort to distract him from the strength of her words, trying to keep her voice still, "I'm just trying to explain why I might not be coming across more grateful, more like I maybe should be, okay?"

She backed up a step then, so that her face wasn't pressed into him and swiped at her eyes and nose with her sleeve saying, "Christ, here I am making a bloody fool of myself."

"Yeah – you love your sister, what a big fool to make of yourself," he said, rolling his eyes and lifting his own hands to wipe away some of the tears she had missed, pulling her slightly closer to him again, "Look, I'm sorry – I didn't think about it like that. And the truth is, we did need the bed because you need to get a decent night's sleep - without being shoved against a wall - but as far as the stuff we got for Lily, she didn't need most of it. It's obvious you've given her everything and kept bloody nothing back for you – that's why I wanted to get you some new things. Because you haven't given yourself anything new - ever, as far as I can see. And because you deserve nice things for all you've done for that girl. We just got a bit carried away spoiling her because she's got the sweetest smile in the world after you, eh?"

She snorted at that and, despite it being against his own better judgement, he let his hand rest in the small of her back, stroking his thumb up and down.

"I mean it – that bab's an angel – you've done well, really well, with her."

"Yeah well, she's got a sweet nature. Not like me. I got all the temper and she got all the charm."

"Oh I've seen you now - you're only hard and sour on the outside," he smiled.

She snorted again.

"Seriously though, Lily's great. She couldn't have had anyone better raising her up till now – and I'm not - that is - we're not here to replace you. And I'm sorry if I took away your authority – sorry about that stupid joke I made – I didn't think she'd…" he broke off, running his free hand through his hair, the other still on her back.

She gave a small laugh, "It's fine, I've just changed her whole life from being me and her to being involved with you whole Shelby lot. She'll just test her boundaries till she figures out where she fits in here and knows what she can get away with. Same as Ada. Lines need redrawn."

"Ada'll get her lines redrawn on her backside if she isn't careful."

"Leave it, Thomas" she repeated.

He grumbled, "Yes Rosalie, I said I'd leave it. Doesn't mean I have to be happy about it."

"Ah, you know my feelings on it being good for you to be unhappy about a few things from time to time."

He smiled softly at her, and stroked her face before he could help himself, "So am I on the road to being forgiven?"

"Am I?" she asked, looking suddenly uncertainly up at him, pressing her cheek into his hand.

"Always," he said, impulsively pressing a kiss to her forehead, "You've got that sweet smile too."

She treated him to it at that.

"So," he said, clearing his throat and stepping back from her, stuffing his hands back in his pockets, where they were safer, less likely to confuse either of them, "We've got a lot to learn about each other still."

"Yeah – and we're both going to be our difficult selves and handle things badly at times."

"Yup. But we agree that you'll remember my intentions are always good underneath it?" he asked, a seriousness underlying the light tone.

She caught it and nodded, "And you'll make more of an effort to discuss things with me first?"

"I promise I will try," he replied. Then added "Can you do me a favour though?"

"Depends what it is," she replied with a raised eyebrow.

"Will you just go to church tomorrow and keep Pol sweet?"

"Will you be going to church tomorrow Thomas?"

"If that's what it'll take to make you go quietly?"

She smirked at him.

"Alright – let's go church tomorrow then."

"Really?"

"Really."

"That betting shop of yours still open downstairs?" she asked.

He shook his head, raising an eyebrow questioningly.

"Shame - I've just heard Thomas Shelby's going up church tomorrow – and I'm happy to lay down some of today's wages that he'll burst into flames the minute he steps over the threshold."

He laughed, then wagged his finger playfully at her, "You watch your tongue – Lily might not be allowed to give you a smack, but I fucking well am - and don't you doubt that I will - if I decide you need it!"


	10. Chapter 10

"He'll not last long without his eyes," Arthur was saying to Scudboat, sniggering as he recounted the events of last night - again. Tommy inhaled his cigarette and exhaled smoke in silence – as he had been doing the whole time. As he had done every time he'd listened to Arthur telling a new person.

Dalton had turned up at the school yesterday – hadn't taken Friday's meeting seriously. That was the trouble when people came from out of town. People like teachers, who didn't live in Small Heath, who didn't know the lay of the fucking land. When Polly had done the pick up yesterday he'd been in the school yard, talking to parents – holding the new fucking cane he'd obviously got since they'd snapped his old one. They'd told him he was fucking lucky they weren't smashing it over his back. But they'd held back. They'd figured the middle-class prick would be intimidated enough by the three of them in his office. This was what fucking happened, Arthur had said, when they led with words instead of action.

And he might have been right. But now Tommy figured if the new head – whoever that would end up being – ever needed a bit of a reminder of how he treated kids from 6 Watery Lane, there was a nice record of the Shelby brothers having a meeting on a Friday, and now there would be a nice record of the head teacher being attacked on the Monday night in the papers – and if the new head could easily be informed that the two incidents were connected, if need be.

He'd done it himself. He'd thought about the marks on Rosie's hands and about Dalton parading that new cane across the school yard – probably had rushed out to buy it himself at the fucking weekend – and his rage had descended, along with his hat. They'd left him alone in his precious semi-detached house with its garden, knocking over the ugly statues and uprooting some of the flowers as they tramped through them for good measure. Whatever happened to him, he wouldn't be caning kids anymore.

Finn caught his eye through the open double doors at the top of the shop, rooting through the kitchen cupboards looking – Tommy presumed – for a biscuit. Polly came in behind him – shouting at him to get outside and get some fresh air instead of stuffing his face - and passed through into the shop.

He raised an eyebrow at her expectantly.

"Gone," she confirmed with a nod.

"Good," he nodded back.

Of course, he knew the man would be gone. But it was always good to have it confirmed that what he knew had become a known general fact of life in Small Heath.

"Where's Lily?" he asked.

She gave him one of her 'looks' – letting him know fine well that she knew who else he was asking about.

"Lily," she emphasised the name, as if she thought he hadn't seen her look, "Is in the front room, I've told her she can't come in the shop when it's open."

Tommy nodded. They had had the same rule for Finn – there were too many strangers wandering in and out of the shop through the day for kids to be running around and John was over fond of leaving his gun lying on the sideboard. They had never technically removed the rule for Finn, the boy just worked it out on a day by day basis whether they were happy for him to be wandering the shop or whether they were sending him away – sometimes with a stinging rear end for his trouble.

"What's she doin', Pol? Celebrating that teacher being gone?" Arthur asked.

Scudboat took the opportunity to head off to a desk whilst Arthur was otherwise engaged. The truth was, for all Arthur was supposed to be the boss, Arthur was more of a drinker and a talker than a worker, and he got in the way of the workers doing their work. For all John left his gun lying around – and Tommy wasn't sure how they stopped that because he'd been told enough times and it just didn't seem to sink through his brother's thick fucking skull – John at least took the bets and wrote them in the book.

"He wasn't her teacher Arthur," Tommy replied.

"Right, yeah," Arthur replied, though Tommy wasn't sure his brother had even attended school enough to remember any difference between the junior school and the big school.

"She's drawing," Polly told Arthur.

"I'm gonna go help her, I was good at drawin'," Arthur announced, heading off up through the doors.

Tommy managed to contain his snort – Arthur actually did used to be good at drawing back when they were younger but no matter what Lily had been doing, Arthur would have been off to help her do it. Polly had been entirely right when she'd said Arthur was always sweet with babies – and Lily was no exception. His aunt gave him another look, and he finished his cigarette, stubbing it out and following his brother out of the shop and into the house, ignoring her and whatever that second look had been about.

"I'll draw you a horse Lily," Arthur was saying to the child, who passed him a crayon and paper from her bag.

"So, Arthur's drawing a horse, what are you drawing Lily?" he asked her.

"Sylvia and Tommy," she smiled up at him.

"Who's Sylvia?" Arthur asked.

"Sylvia and Tommy are Lily's bears," Tommy answered, not looking at his brother, knowing Arthur would be laughing at him for getting a kid's bear named after him – not that he cared.

"Tommy for our Tommy?" Arthur asked her, and she nodded.

"So who's Sylvia?"

Lily shrugged, "Rosie said Sylvia made the bear, so we named the bear after her."

Arthur raised his eyes to Tommy, and Tommy shrugged.

"Where is Rosie, Lily?" he asked the girl.

Lily thought for a moment, then said, "I don't know," in the very calm way that only a child could answer that question.

Tommy took a moment to breathe silently through his nose, considered going back in to ask Polly why Lily didn't know where her sister was and then decided he wasn't going to give her the satisfaction.

"Didn't she walk home with you?" he pressed Lily, his voice gentle.

"No," Lily answered simply, continuing to draw.

"Lily," Arthur asked, interrupting Tommy's next question, "How come you named the bear Tommy and not Arthur?"

"Well I was going to name the doll Arthur but then Ada said I couldn't," Lily told him, very seriously.

"Why not?"

"Because it's a boy's name."

"Right – is the doll not a boy?"

Lily shrugged.

"What did the doll get called?"

"Ada."

"Right – I'll tell you what Lily, I'm gonna buy you a big massive bear – better than Tommy or Sylvia – and you'll call him Arthur, right?"

"She doesn't need another bear, Arthur," Tommy said, his voice sharp.

He hadn't forgiven himself yet for how Rosie had told him their spoiling of Lily had made her feel.

Lily looked up at him, heeding his tone.

"Did I do something bad Tommy?" she asked, biting her lip.

"No love, but you've got two bears so you don't need any more bears, do you? Need to fit your sister in the bed beside you all, eh?"

She nodded, but seemed unconvinced until he gave her a smile and asked her, "Who's my best girl Lily?"

"Me?" she asked, uncertain.

"That's right," he told her, "You're my best girl – so I made sure you got the best bears already, didn't I?"

She smiled and nodded, going back to her picture.

He wasn't entirely sure he followed his own logic really, but as long as she knew he wasn't withholding any bears from her because of anything she'd done – that was the main thing. As long as that questioning note wasn't in her voice and she knew she was his best girl and he'd make sure she had what she needed – that was enough to keep them both happy. It was true that they were all bloody soft on the child, but she was an easy baby to be soft on. She smiled easily and though she seemed to upset easily too – often at nothing more than a harsh tone, which was something he was trying to be aware of when he was around her - her grievances were easily forgotten. She didn't hold grudges and, as long as she got some reassurance, she seemed to have naturally accepted that they all wanted to take care of her. Not like the sister whose whereabouts were currently unknown. He supposed maybe someone who was used to being taken care of would accept it from a wider group of people without much question. Someone not used to being taken care of – well, she'd keep trying to take care of herself until someone set her straight.

He shot Arthur a look, telling him to keep his mouth shut. His brother screwed up his face in confusion, but Tommy gave a shake of his head and Arthur didn't say anything – even if he didn't entirely understand.

The front door flew open then and Ada came scrambling in, throwing her bag carelessly in the chair and looking around wildly – catching sight of him and Arthur and saying, "There's six massive rats up the street, can I have a gun?"

"Chasing rats with a revolver Ada – thought you weren't interested in that anymore," Tommy said mildly, trying to keep from laughing at his sister's obvious hurry to get back out and do exactly that.

"I'm still a bloody Shelby - give me a gun Tommy, please?" she said, her voice quick and breathless.

He half thought about cuffing her for her language, but he figured it was the least of the bad words – and he was quite pleased at her vision of herself as a 'bloody Shelby' really, complete with gun, so he fished his smallest out his pocket and handed it over saying, "Mind you only point it at the rats Ada," but she was off out again before he had even finished the sentence.

He exchanged a grin with Arthur, then went to the door to watch as she high tailed down the street, towards where Finn and his friends were also grouped, all clearly invested in watching the rats. In fact, he was fairly sure he recognised a few of the boys who were grouped there too – boys he was pretty sure were in Ada's class who normally ran about with Rosie. But he couldn't see any red hair amongst them, and the red hair was hard to miss at the best of times – as long as you weren't his Uncle Charlie – never mind when you were actively looking for it.

He frowned and glanced the other way up the street, catching the eye of a man he didn't care to.

The man nodded and, out of politeness, Tommy nodded back.

"I see you've put a gun in your sister's hand now Thomas," the man commented.

"She's chasing rats Freddie - so you might want to scarper."

The man grinned, "That my marching order, Sergeant Major?"

"Nope," Tommy said, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it, "Just friendly advice."

He stepped back into the house and pulled the door closed, ending the exchange. Freddie Thorne – once upon a time his best friend, a man he owed his life to, and a dangerous man to have close by. And quite what he was doing skulking about Watery Lane on his own Tommy didn't know. He made a mental note to investigate if anyone knew of any movement on the street, any newcomers. Communist safehouses were not what he wanted popping up close to where his family lay their heads.

"Rosie's not out there with them," he said, half to Arthur and half to no one in particular, then, "Lily did she say why she wasn't walking home with you? She likes walking with you."

Lily paused her colouring for a moment and thought then said, "No – she wasn't there when we got there. But she works on a Tuesday," then went back to her colouring, nodding her head to herself. Obviously the whereabouts of her sister hadn't been overly bothering to her in the first place and now they'd clearly been sorted in her head. He supposed that was what came of the child having been used to being alone so often.

"Right," he said, trying – and probably failing – to keep his voice gentle.

The bloody miscreant would soon know all about it if she'd gone against their compromise. He hadn't wanted to compromise in the bloody first place, but he'd done it. Maybe Arthur was right and he should have gone all in to start with – roasted her for even suggesting a compromise rather than her compliance.

He tried not to let the door slam behind him as he left the house and headed for the tobacco shop.

He wasn't even trying not to let it slam when he returned, an hour or so later. She hadn't been in the shop – Evans had been in himself and had reported that she had indeed told him she'd only be able to work the Saturday going forward. He'd gone to her old house then, hammered on the door in case she'd gone there, but there had been no answer. He'd even gone to the school, in case she'd forgotten something and had turned back to get it, but the place had been deserted.

Lily smiled up at him from where she now sat surrounded by pictures – Arthur's horse amongst them – and he made his best effort to give her a decent smile in return. No use worrying her.

His smile probably flickered though when he heard her voice ask, "Polly – is there a big mixing bowl anywhere?"

He was through the little front room and pushing the kitchen door fully open in a matter of seconds, his eyes glaring first and then softening as he took in the sight of her - stood at the kitchen table, a knife in her hand and an apron tied over her new school dress, surrounded by lumps of dough and a pie dish, a pile of vegetables she was chopping resting in front of her. It took his breath away for a minute just how much she looked like she belonged there, in his kitchen, taking over it exactly as she was.

He hardened his eyes again though and cleared his throat, causing her to look up at him, her eyes questioning. She had a smudge of something on her cheek and what looked to be a bit of carrot peel tangled in her hair and he wanted to go wipe her down gently, but now wasn't the time.

"She was getting things for dinner," Polly told him, catching the look on his face as she stood back from the big cupboard in the corner and passed over a bowl.

"And you didn't think to tell anyone where you were going? I've just been traipsing around looking for you," he demanded, his eyes still on hers.

"I told Ada to tell you where I was going," she replied, her voice a strange mixture of being both defiant and uncertain at the same time, "The butcher's shuts at four, Tommy, I didn't have much time. Arthur said you'd just left when I got here."

And Arthur had made himself scarce, presuming he knew how Tommy would react.

But it wasn't her fault. He tried to give her a smile then, which he imagined came out as more of a grimace as the frustration of the last few hours coursed through him, nodded and then turned on his heel, heading back to the front door. Trying to process the emotions that the girl in the kitchen had stirred up in him.

"Ada," he shouted out down the street.

She looked up from where she was sitting with some other girls, the rat episode evidently done with. He crooked a finger at her and she sighed theatrically for the benefit of her friends but got up and came towards him. He lunged for her arm as soon as she was within reaching distance, yanking her to him and pulling her in the house – resisting the urge to let her friends see exactly where her sighing would get her.

"You got anything you were supposed to tell me?" he asked.

She frowned at him and defiantly threw up the arm he wasn't holding, saying, "No."

"Right," he said, then spun her around and landed his hand on her rear, "So you don't remember Rosie saying to you to tell us she was going to the butcher?"

"Oh Jesus Christ Tommy – I forgot – I just forgot, okay?" she snapped back, trying to move out of his way as he began properly.

"Well if you're told to give me a message, don't forget," he answered, accompanying every word with a smack.

She reached her free hand back to shield herself, so he moved to the tops of her thighs instead, which elicited a high yowl from her.

"Jesus Tommy – did you never forget anything in your life?" she demanded.

"I'm sure I did, and I'm sure I was made to remember – just like you will in the future," he replied.

He glanced over to where Lily was staring at the scene, her eyes round and her mouth open.

"Ah, don't you worry Lily, she's earned herself these smacks," he told the child with a smile, still swatting away, "And they don't hurt her as much as you'd think – she's just caterwauling for effect."

"I am not Tommy – they do hurt!" Ada snapped, jumping from foot to foot.

"Can't hurt that much if you're still snapping at me," he replied calmly, rounding off with a flurry of quick, sharp smacks and releasing her.

She glared at him and moved her hands to her behind, rubbing out what he knew could really only be a slight bit of a sting. Ada had seen her first picture show and never looked back from her own dramatic flair thereafter.

"You'll sit fine for your dinner Ada so don't be looking for sympathy," he said, looking up to the kitchen door then – where Rosie was stood with the mixing bowl resting on her hip, frowning at him.

"Now, see Ada – if I'd looked up I might have got Rosie there to pass me that wooden spoon, and then you'd have had something to glare at me about."

"I wouldn't have passed you anything Thomas Shelby," Rosie's imperious tone carried across the room and he noted that it earned her a grin from Ada.

"Well I'd have come and got off you then," he told her, then, raising an eyebrow, "I still might."

She smirked at the threat and he couldn't help but smirk back.

"What are you making for dinner?" Ada asked.

"Steak pie and ginger cake for after."

"You can make a cake?" Ada asked, her surprise evident.

Rosie frowned, "What – you think 'cause I didn't want to play houses with you when we were kids that I don't know how to make a cake?"

"Just didn't think baking was your idea of a good time."

"Not many people would," Rosie replied breezily, not rising to it, "But I thought Dalton being gone was a good reason to celebrate."

Her eyes flashed to Tommy's with a proper smile.

He smiled back at her over Ada's shoulder, thinking how little he did know of her. Truthfully, like Ada, he would have thought her lack of time for girl's pursuits - that was, hairstyles and dresses and playing houses - would have meant she didn't know how to bake a cake, never mind make a steak pie from scratch. He wasn't actually sure if Polly knew how to do either of those things. And he knew for a fact Ada didn't.

"Well you're playing bloody houses now," Ada said, looking between himself and Rosie.

He raised an eyebrow at her for her language, but was stopped from saying anything by Rosie replying, "Aye but that's cause your brother came and bullied me into it. Kid's games, honestly! Heard he had this terrifying reputation then I find out he's soft in the head."

"Dunno about the head but he's not soft in the hand," Ada replied, chancing another frown at him and rubbing her hand over her rear end again.

"Away you back outside before I show you how not soft my hand can be," he said, nodding his head towards the door, then, to Rosie, "What time will this steak pie and cake be done for?"

"An hour or so?"

He glanced at the clock, "You be back in here for half six Ada – and tell Finn the same, if you can remember. And if you don't know the time - get in and check the time, I'm not having you two coming in late and messing up Rosie's celebration, right?"

He watched Ada disappear through the door and, once it had shut behind her, he turned back to Rosie, "So does calling me soft in the head help your turf war come to a truce?"

She snorted and turned to head back to the kitchen calling over her shoulder, "It's not my war, it's Ada's."

"Ah but they were your words Miss Jackson."

"Hurt your feelings did they Mr Shelby?" she shouted through in the blithe tone he'd come to recognise as part of her repertoire.

"Christ you're a brave one girl," he heard Polly mutter.

"There's brave and there's foolish Pol," he called through.

"Yeah but right now I'm still holding the wooden spoon," she replied. He could picture the smirk on her face.

"I've still half a mind to come in there and take it off you," he said, trying – and failing - to make his tone imposing.

"You going to stir the cake mix Tommy? That'd be a real help actually," came the bright reply.

He couldn't help but grin and he turned to Lily and said, "Your sister wants me to stir a cake mix, Lily, have you ever heard of such a thing? Asking me to get involved in women's business?"

She giggled and he swooped down and picked her, throwing her up into the air before settling her on his hip, "Shall we go see if you can help Lily? You'll be much better than me I imagine."

She nodded and they headed through, to find Rosie bent over the table, weighing out – well, weighing out stuff he didn't know the name of that he presumed was going in the cake. He couldn't resist the position and he reached out and swatted her well-presented rear end.

She grinned over her shoulder at him and he gave her a mockingly stern look saying, "Asking me to do women's business."

"Women did all the business when you lot were away," she replied, "We've forgotten what belongs in what column."

"Well, we're back," he told her, "So if you need reminding, just you let me know."

He accompanied his words by patting her a couple of times on her behind and she wriggled back against his hand, almost absent-mindedly as her eyes continued to peer at the scales she was trying to balance. He felt stirrings in his trousers as his hand rested lightly on the curve of her and he quickly withdrew it, stuffing it in his pocket, where it could stay out of trouble – as his mother had used to say, 'Whenever your hands are about to do something that'll get you on the wrong side of me, you just get them in your pockets before they can act of their own accord Thomas, or your backside'll be sorry.' There was no one to make his backside sorry now, but the hands in pockets advice had stuck with him for whenever he was unsure about what he was doing and whether it was a good idea.

He could feel Polly's keen gaze on him and decided not to risk meeting her eye for fear of the guilt she might see in his – as if she hadn't already assessed exactly why his hand had been snuggly shoved into the pocket in question.

He cleared his throat, "Lily will be able to help you though – if you tell her what needs done."

"That's because Lily's a good girl, isn't it bab?" Rosie said, standing and taking one of Lily's hands from around Tommy's neck and kissing it, before laying it back down, her hands brushing his neck as she did so, the brief skin to skin contact making his neck tingle.

"That she is," Tommy agreed, bouncing Lily a little on his hip, "Not like her wench of a sister."

"Ah well, a wench she may be, but that's still a cut above a baboon in my mind," the sister in question replied.

"Baboon!" Lily repeated, smiling – blissfully unaware of what or who Rosie had meant with the term.

He could understand why she'd repeated it - it was a funny word to say.

They exchanged a smile before Rosie's eyes moved to her sister and said, "Alright, no more baboon-ing from you Lily. Now, if I put this bowl on the chair here, can you reach it to stir this spoon round in it?"

Lily could reach it fine well, but Tommy stayed crouched behind her, one hand on her waist and the other hand helping her to push the spoon about. Somehow, he had ended up mixing the bloody cake after all. But as Lily babbled away about what she'd done at school that day, he didn't find that he minded.

When the pie was in the oven and Rosie had switched Lily's task to be greasing up a tin for the cake, Tommy stood back against the sideboard, watching the redhead bustle about the kitchen.

He had loved someone before. Greta. And it had been love, real love, but it had been a boy's real love of a girl. He had wanted her and desired her and in his head he had thought to marry her – but what he'd really thought of was the marriage bed. And he'd imagined them sitting in their own front room surrounded by children, in a vague, unspecific way, like a parody of what his parents might have been like if his father had been in the picture more often. He'd meant it all, but it had been a kid's game of houses he'd been playing in his mind. And he just hadn't really known it till that moment. Since Greta, he'd had girls, had women - plenty of them. And he had desired them all, to varying degrees. But he'd never pictured any of them in his kitchen. It had never occurred to him to picture it.

And yet now, as he watched her head out the back to fill a pot with water and bring it back in, heating it and dumping it into the porcelain basin - using it to scrub the dishes as she went, listened to her giving instructions to Lily, watched her pick her sister up to the water so she could dip her hands in it, cleaning them and wiping the remnants of the grease off her fingers with her apron… If she'd been overwhelmed by the few things he had bought her at the weekend – he was overwhelmed in turn by her being in his kitchen. She didn't need to buy anything to overwhelm him, she just needed to exist.

In his whole life, Tommy had never felt what he did now, watching her work. He wanted to take her in his arms and tilt her head back and claim her pretty little mouth. He wanted to ask her to go church with him, and not as a standard Sunday outing. He wanted to ask her to meet him at the altar. He wanted to make her his and ask her to make his kitchen, his life, hers.

But it was a fantasy. An overwhelming fantasy. But a fantasy just the same. Because this wasn't his life. He didn't come home to his dinner at night. Didn't stand in his kitchen if it wasn't a bit of family business that needed attending to. He hadn't even been to church before their Sunday trip in god only knew how long – if god even existed to be counting the missed weeks. He wasn't a domesticated man. He ran a business, an illegal one. He cut and beat people.

But then – wasn't him having cut somebody exactly why she was standing in his kitchen baking him a cake?

He watched as she poured the cake mix into the tin, telling Lily to stand back while she picked up the tin in a towel and opened the door to the furnace, sliding it in on the shelf below the pie.

"Smells good, doesn't it Lily?" he said as the smell went through the kitchen before she shut the door back over.

"What – you suggesting women's business can be worthwhile Thomas?" she asked, straightening up and tossing the towel on the side, a glint in her eye.

"Now see you've taken that as an insult," he told her, "Women's business is women's business because men wouldn't be any good at it."

He heard Polly snort from where she'd sat herself through in the shop, looking over Arthur's ledgers but still very clearly listening. Because when was Polly Gray not bloody listening and seeing and taking things in?

"So, it was a compliment was it indeed?" Rosie asked him, picking up the empty mixing bowl and sticking it in the tub to soak whilst she wiped down the table.

"It was indeed."

"Ah well - 'tis a pity you won't be tasting the fruits of any of this women's labour business then," she said nonchalantly, sweeping the crumbs from the table into her hand and crossing to throw them out the back door, rubbing her hands together to make sure they were all shed – all very business-like - before returning to her basin and dunking the bowl in and out of the water.

"Now what exactly are you meaning by that?" he asked frowning.

"You told me you didn't eat Thomas," she said, turning to him with the soapy bowl in her arms, running the scrubbing brush around the inside of it, her face deadly serious, "So I didn't buy any for you."

He really wasn't sure if she was joking or not.

"You didn't get me any?" he repeated slowly.

"Nope – just got enough for me, Lily, Aunt Pol, Ada and Finn."

"And I'm not giving up my share of something that smells that good," Polly shouted through.

He ignored Polly and kept his eyes on her, but she merely raised an eyebrow and said, "I can't say I'm too keen on the idea of sharing with you either, Tommy."

"I'll share," Lily said brightly, and Tommy bent and reached out his arms, sweeping her up into them.

"Now that is why you're my best girl Lily," he told her, pressing a kiss to her cheek, his eyes still on Rosie, "Not like all these other women around here that I've lumped myself with."

"Stealing dinner from a child," she tutted, "And there was me thinking you gangsters had a moral code."

He crossed over to where she was standing, now washing the wooden spoon he still was half tempted to take off her and whack her with – and he would have, he told himself, if he didn't have her sister in his arms, when he had so recently promised not to undermine her in front of Lily.

She looked up at him and raised her eyebrows as if to ask what exactly he wanted, but he could see the wicked glint in her eye now.

"You'll find some dinner in that oven for me, you little wench, if you know what's good for you," he told her with a smile.

She responded with a smile of her own and flicked some of the soapy water out of the tub and onto his shirt.

"Now look at what she did Lily, she's an awful clumsy one your sister, isn't she?" he said, shaking his head at the child, who giggled.

"Ah that'll do you no harm if you've got no plans to have a bath again between now and Saturday night," she replied.

"Well in that case…" he replied, reaching into the tub and flicking some of the bubbles up at her.

She grinned then said, "D'you want some Lily?", lifting a few soapy suds onto her finger and placing them on the tip of Lily's scrunched little nose.

"Well, now that we're all washed up for dinner," he said, "There had better be enough dinner for all of us. Bringing my bath night forward, eh Lily? The cheek of her!"

"Of course there's dinner for you, you daft lump," she gave in and told him, batting him with the towel she had picked up to dry her washed dishes with.

"Good to know you've got some sense in you," he told her, grabbing the towel out of her grasp and batting her right back with it.

"Well now the towel's in your hand you might as well dry," she told him, walking away from the sink and removing her apron, hanging it up on the back of the door and going through to the front room, not looking back at him. He watched her go, imagining - he thought quite accurately - the self satisfied smirk that would be on her face at that exact moment.

He pulled a face at the child in his arms, "Drying dishes Lily eh? Whatever next? Your sister's trying to make a skivvy of me," he said. But he put Lily down and did dry the bowl and spoon – and emptied out the water from the tub and collected more from out the back that could be heated when the dinner was done. Though he'd be making Ada and Finn do those dishes.

And to his surprise, he found sitting down to a dinner with his household and his aunt really wasn't the tedious affair he would have pictured. He'd go as far as saying he enjoyed himself and, afterwards, when Polly had left and Finn and Ada were doing the dishes – which they accepted being tasked with without too much mumping – he sat on the sofa with Lily on his lap and Rosie at his side and Lily talked them through all the pictures she had drawn that afternoon. And, quite frankly, it was better than any game of houses he'd ever played in his mind.


	11. Chapter 11

"Don't know why she can't just fix it herself," Arthur grumbled as he sat at the kitchen table, looking over his ledger that Polly had seen fit to busy herself with the previous night whilst Rosie took over the kitchen.

"Because she can't make bloody head nor tail of it Arthur," John grinned from the countertop where he'd sat himself, drinking beer and watching their brother sweat, as he did whenever he had to do business that was brain led.

"She knows how much money's in the safe, can't she just work backwards from that?"

"That's not how it works, Arthur," Tommy bit out, his own response to Arthur's frustration much less amused than John's.

Arthur needed to sort himself out - or just admit he wasn't fit to be the head of the organisation. When it came to the physical side of what they did, Arthur was brilliant. He got a high from that, from working off his instincts and he was good at it. He was less… precise than Tommy was himself. But that was partly why he was so good – when it came to intimidating people, having a man who went a bit wild and couldn't be counted on to be precise, well – it was a good threat to be able to unleash on people.

They heard the front door open and a flurry of footsteps announced the return of their aunt from the school pick up.

"Go away Lily," they heard Finn say exasperatedly, followed by the sound of a muffled clout and his aunt's voice telling him to watch his tone and get out of her sight before she decided to give him a good seeing to. The front door opened and shut as Finn took her advice and Tommy rolled his eyes, wondering what Finn had been up to this time.

"Aww Lily, if Finn's tellin' you to go away you come in here and see me, I never wants ya to go away," Arthur shouted through.

"Not until you've fixed that ledger Arthur Shelby," Polly's voice rang through, but Lily had already appeared in the kitchen and climbed up onto Arthur's lap.

"What have you done wrong with the ledger?" Rosie asked with a smile, following her sister through but stopping to lean in the doorway.

Arthur rolled his eyes and shrugged, "I don't know."

"Well if you don't know how the hell am I supposed to know?" Polly said, stepping round Rosie to glare at Arthur. Her eyes fell on the open doors through to the shop and she threw her hands up, "And I have told you to keep those doors shut when the shop's open and the kids are in!" she snapped, reaching for the handles and slamming them over at the same time, pulling the curtains over them for good measure.

Arthur mumbled under his breath to Lily, but he wasn't stupid enough to actually pick a fight with his aunt, she was clearly in a mood about something – and Tommy wasn't going to bother asking her because he knew she'd make sure he knew what it was sooner or later whether he asked or not.

"Lily, Arthur needs to get that sorted for me, so you come down off his lap and let him concentrate," Polly said to the child, who looked nervously up at Arthur but slid down obediently.

Tommy was about the reach out to the little girl, who had put her fingers in her mouth and began to chew on them as she watched his aunt clatter about the kitchen, but John spoke to her first, saying, "Oh don't you worry about Aunt Pol, Lily, it's Arthur and his adding up she's mad at, not you."

"You get off that counter John Shelby, it was clean before you sat your arse on it," Polly snapped at him, but she looked to the girl and softened, "I'm going to the fishmonger Lily, then over to the Italian shops – do you want to come with me? Get you an ice cream?"

"Aw no – are you making dinner tonight Pol?" John asked, not shifting himself of the counter.

She gave him a cool look, "I'm not making it for you."

"Heard you made some right bostin' fittle last night," he said to Rosie with a grin, ignoring their aunt.

She shrugged, and Tommy frowned slightly, she really was no good at taking compliments. She didn't rise to bait, one way or the other.

"It was the best steak pie I ever had," he told the room, catching her eye and holding her gaze as he said it.

"Well if he ate it, it must have been somethin' special," Arthur commented with a snort.

They heard the door open in the front room.

"We finished off your cake," John continued on, "That was…" he trailed off and patted his stomach, closing his eyes and sighing to illustrate his point.

"You finished that cake?" Ada's voice came indignantly. She had appeared in the doorway now, beside Rosie.

"You snooze you lose Ada," John replied with a grin.

"I was at school John," she moaned, "That's not bloody fair."

"Ada, stop swearing, I've told you - you're not old enough," Tommy said, aware that Lily was still in the room.

"Well it's not fair – having it stolen out from under me!" she retorted.

John just laughed at her.

"Here," she said suddenly, turning to Rosie, "It's my birthday soon, will you make a cake for my party?"

"You're having a party?" Tommy asked, his eyebrow raised.

"Aunt Polly said I could," she told him smugly.

He raised his eyes to the heavens. Parties. Strangers in his house. Just what he needed.

"Aye well, not your full class Ada," he replied, determined to gain some degree of control over the bloody party he hadn't approved.

She rolled her eyes, "I don't like my whole class," she told him, then, turning her attention back to Rosie, "So, will you make us a cake?"

"If you like," Rosie said mildly, nodding.

He supposed she was well aware that she wouldn't have been making the cut for an invite a few weeks ago, and here she was catering the damn thing. He had half a mind to tell Ada to shove her cake and her party, but he'd said he'd let them redraw their lines between them, so he stayed silent - much as he'd like to just dictate to Ada where her lines should and would be if she knew what was good for her.

"Here," Ada said again, her face suddenly lighting up and her voice taking on a tone of mischief he definitely didn't care for, "Could you get Becker to come to my party?"

"Becker?" Rosie asked, her own tone taking on an edge that hadn't been there a minute ago.

Ada nodded, "He's always running about with your lot, he'll come if you ask him."

"Do you think that's a good idea?" Rosie replied.

Ada looked at her, widening her own eyes and Rosie raised her eyebrows in turn.

"Why do I get the feeling there's a conversation happening that the rest of us aren't part of?" Tommy asked with a stab of annoyance.

Who the hell was this Becker kid? And why did Ada want to invite him and why did Rosie not want Ada to invite him?

"That's as it should be Thomas," Polly answered him sardonically, "There's been enough conversations you've been partial to in your lifetime that you shouldn't have been, do you some good to be left out. Besides you've made your feelings on being included in women's business quite clear."

He rolled his eyes and caught Lily's gaze, "Lily – don't you be turning out like any of these women, you stay my best girl, okay?"

"You could do worse than turn out like me – means you can sort out the Tommy Shelby's of the world when it's needed and there's not many can do that Lily, I'll tell you that for free," Polly said to the girl with a smile and she giggled, her eyes moving between him and his aunt.

"Back to this Becker lad," he said, refusing to be side-tracked by Polly, "How come one of you thinks it's a good idea he comes and one of you doesn't?"

Rosie's eyes flashed between him and Ada, then she let that blank look she used sometimes, so no one could tell what she was thinking, come over her face, and said, "Well I didn't say it wasn't a good idea."

He rolled his eyes to the heavens, that was more or less exactly what she had said and fine well she knew it. And he didn't care for that blank look that didn't give anything away.

"He's just a boy in our class," Ada said, not meeting his eye, "And I'd like him to come to my party."

"Well why can't you ask him yourself?" he asked her - and noted Rosie's eyes widening as she pulled a face to herself at that question. At least that was an improvement on the blankness, even if it wasn't entirely comforting.

"I can," Ada replied, "But he's her friend so it's just better if she asks him."

"Well I'll ask him," Rosie said, a sudden flash in her eye, "But you know if you want him here then Wrighty'll come whether he's asked or not."

"Well Lewis Cartwright isn't bloody welcome at my party," Ada snapped.

"Ada! Stop the swearing or there won't be a party!" Tommy snapped over at her, annoyed she hadn't heeded him the first time. Girl would drive him to his wits' end.

"Why is Lewis Cartwright not welcome Ada?" John asked with a grin.

Tommy gave a sharp, irritated exhale, but no one heard him. He could always count on his bloody brother to not take anything seriously.

It was just as well they had left Finn and Ada to him and Polly really, even if he didn't remember to be particularly glad of it most of the time. Arthur's temper was much shorter than his own - Tommy knew Arthur's thoughts were that Ada should have been given a dose of the strap long ago. But his brother wasn't calm enough to be consistent and Tommy was fairly sure Ada and Finn would have ended up scared of him if he'd stayed around to raise them – and not in the slightly scared way they were of his hand, the amount of scared he needed them to be to keep them, for the most part, in line. Arthur was – well, he was much sweeter with the kids than their father had ever been with them – but Arthur had inherited their dad's lack of patience and tendency to fly off the handle one day over something that wouldn't have bothered him the day before.

John they wouldn't have been scared of, but they'd also have got nothing done - ever. John couldn't maintain any discipline, he was more interested in being kept entertained by the escapades of the younger Shelby kids. There was a chance he was being harsh. John had come through for him the day of Ada's last real spanking, and he had appreciated it. He supposed John had enough parenting to do and maybe if he wasn't doing that at home so much he wouldn't begrudge the idea of doing it outside of his own house. Even still, he wasn't convinced any of John's parenting was that effective. He had kept John's comments from that day - about needing a woman - in his mind, but nothing had come up yet.

"It doesn't matter why he's not invited, he's not invited," Ada's words were a reply to John's, but her eyes were on Rosie and her mouth was forming into a scowl.

The redhead shrugged, "Well you tell him that, but I doubt it'd stop them – you don't get one without the other."

"Yes, you do," Ada said pointedly, raising her eyebrows.

"That was about the only time though, and, if anything, the fall out left Wrighty more glued to Becker than before," Rosie replied, raising her own eyebrows.

"Oh, for god's sake! Fine!" Ada snapped, "You're as bad as them! What use is it you practically being a boy if you can't even split one off for me?"

"I can split another one off, but you'll not get Becker alone after what happened with Wrighty – you should pick them better!" Rosie snapped back.

The two glared at each other then, a conversation continuing between them with their eyes. Tommy fished out his cigarette case and lit up, annoyed that he didn't know what was going on.

"I think there's a shell about to land and go bang," he said, after he had inhaled a few times.

The girls were still glaring at each other.

"Rosie?" Lily enquired.

Her sister's eyes shifted over to her, "What is it Lily?" she asked, evidently trying to soften her tone.

"What's going on?"

"Wouldn't we all like to know Lily," Tommy growled.

"You're too young to know Lily, I'll tell you when you're older," she replied, and John dissolved into laughter, slamming his hand down on the counter and shaking his head.

"Jesus Christ, thanks a lot!" Ada shrieked at her, her eyes flashing to him and Arthur, then she turned on her heel, shouting "I'm going out!"

"Ada Shelby, you get back in here!" he called after her.

"I think that's our cue to go Lily," Polly said, "Give me your hand, there's a good girl. Are you two staying for dinner even if I'm the one cooking it?"

"I'll be here till dinner tomorrow sortin' this," Arthur grumbled, indicating the open ledger – as if he'd given it a glance since the conversation had started.

"Right, John?"

"You told me you weren't makin' me any dinner Pol," John replied.

His aunt glared at him and he had the sense to wind his neck in a little.

"Nah, thanks Pol," he offered instead, "Lizzie's looking after the kids, so I better go let her go. She'll have done them their tea so there should be some left for me."

"Lizzie who?" Arthur asked.

"Lizzie Stark," John replied, looking up at the ceiling so he didn't need to see their reactions.

It was Arthur who took a fit of laughter then, saying, "Oh aye – better let her go get to work then, eh?"

"Right Pol, get Lily out of here before her ears hear anymore," Tommy said, glaring at the back of Arthur's head and blowing out a long stream of smoke.

He made an effort to smile at Lily, who waved at him as Polly pulled her from the room, then he turned his eyes on his sister, who was hovering half way across the front room, just about still in his eyeline through the open doors.

"In here Ada," he repeated himself.

She sighed but walked, albeit slowly and coming to a stop as soon as she stood over the threshold of the kitchen. He raised an eyebrow, and dragged on his cigarette, inviting her to offer an explanation, but she didn't.

"You making a fool of yourself Ada?" he prompted her when it became clear she wasn't going to say anything of her own accord.

Rosie had folded her hands in against her lower back and leant against them, staring very directly at the ground, scuffing her shoe and clearly wishing she had been invited for ice cream from the Italian shop.

"Oh, for god's sake Tommy," his sister cried, clearly wanting the ground to swallow her up and looking very directly over his shoulder at the wall, "Like you never kissed anyone!"

"You're fourteen Ada," he replied.

"Yeah – and John married Martha the day after she was sixteen!"

He had done – because Martha's father had been ready to march the two of them to the church with a pistol in each of their backs if he hadn't. And there wouldn't have been much ground on which Tommy or Arthur could contest it, given Martha popped out their first boy, George, barely six months later. Still, with another three following pretty quickly, the two had seemed happy until she had been taken by the Spanish flu.

"There's a big difference between fourteen and sixteen."

"Well I'm nearly fifteen and if we were living gypsy-"

"Ada! We've had the conversation about 'if we were living gypsy' – and it didn't end so well for you if I recall," he told her.

She stamped her foot.

"Aye there's someone right grown up and ready to be kissin' boys," John said, his amusement evident in his tone.

Ada kept her eyes on the wall but let out a frustrated squeal.

"Ada," he said, prompting again, in a harsher tone, "Ada! Look at me!" when she didn't respond to his first attempt.

He took a few puffs on his cigarette, holding her eyes throughout, then, keeping himself calm but pointing at her with the cigarette for emphasis, "Let me make this quite clear Ada – I hear you're making a fool of yourself an' you'll be on the school walk with Lily and Finn and going nowhere except this house and school until you're sixteen, d'you understand?"

She nodded, and he raised an eyebrow at her.

"Yes Tommy," she bit out, "I understand."

He nodded, then moved his eyes off of her to gaze at nothing in particular, letting her know he was done.

"Can I go now?" she asked, her tone still dark.

"Aye Ada, get back outside – just no playin' with the boys," Arthur told her, a mirth in his brother's tone that Tommy really wished wasn't there.

She turned then and hissed, "Thanks a-fucking-lot," at Rosie on her way out. He didn't know if she didn't think he would hear her, or if she just didn't care if he would hear her.

His eyes focused on them, ready to say something, but Rosie's head had snapped up and she met Ada's own eyes quite defiantly, not breaking off until Ada tossed her head and stormed out. As far as whatever their war was she wasn't rising to Ada's bait, but she was clearly happy to stand up to her if she wanted to. Women. He didn't understand their politics – and he wasn't at all following whatever the bloody situation with Becker and Wrighty, whoever they were supposed to be when they were at home. And part of him wanted to go investigate it right away and part of him was disgusted that he was at all bothered about getting involved in the affairs of kids.

"Fucks sake," John commented, shaking his head, once he heard the door slam behind her.

Tommy finished his cigarette and crossed the room to throw it into the fire, hearing her sigh as he did so. He glanced over his shoulder at her – she had crossed her arms in front of her now and was looking blankly into the middle distance. God, he hated that blank look. If she was annoyed he'd rather she screamed and threw things than gave anyone that blank look, at least he'd know how she felt.

"Well?" he asked her.

She gave a slow blink, then met his eyes, wordlessly.

"Is she making a fool of herself?"

She glanced to John and Arthur before saying, "She's not doing any more or any less than anyone else is doing for the most part Tommy."

"For the most part," he snorted, as if she thought he wouldn't recognise that as a way of dodging the question, "You're saying you're not squealing then?"

"I'm saying it's not fair of you to ask me."

"Not fucking fair? I'll give you not fair my girl," he retorted.

"What's not fair is Polly askin' me to sort this out as if I know what to do – how's your numbers Rosie?" Arthur asked her.

"Arthur, asking you to sort out your own ledger might actually count as quite fair," Rosie replied with a grin, but she was taking the few steps to reach the table and have a look over it before Arthur was even done responding to her that that was the last time he'd be offering her an escape from Tommy.

"Did he get you bad yesterday?" John asked her, "Arthur said he was mad when he left here to go get you."

"Didn't get her at all yesterday," Tommy said, answering his brother for her and crossing back over to stand by the window where he had been - then promptly wishing he hadn't because he was stood looking at her arse as she bent over the table looking at the ledger and it made him slightly uncomfortable, "She told bloody Ada where she was going so it was Ada's fault that I didn't get the message." He hardened his tone and raised his voice to add, "So god only knows why someone wants to be sticking up for Ada when Ada nearly had that someone catching it yesterday."

"Arthur are these all bets that were won or lost?" she asked his brother, ignoring him.

"Both," Arthur replied.

"Well I imagine that's your first issue – you probably want them in separate columns, so you know what's money in and what's money out. Is there a record of the results on these races so you can mark the ones that are money in to be added up separately to the ones that are money out?"

"Jesus Christ Arthur – even I know to write down what's come in and what's gone out in separate bits," John howled, slapping the counter again.

"So you bloody should," Tommy growled, "So should both of you - it's not fucking funny John – it's a basic premise of the business. If I'm going to be in charge of drumming up new business you two need to be able to handle the business I bring through the doors. And asking a fifteen-year-old to sort out your bloody disgrace of a ledger Arthur, honest to god!"

"He's so miserable, my brother – whatever made you choose to come put up with him round the clock?" Arthur asked Rosie.

"Oh Arthur, he charmed me," she replied, then, looking over her shoulder at him, "Said I had a fat arse."

John snorted and Tommy reached up to give the area in question a small kick. In the presence of his brothers it felt slightly less intimate than reaching over to give her a good smack with his hand – which he was sorely tempted to do as she bent over the table, presenting the target to him in such a blatant fashion. And he wondered slightly, based on that look over her shoulder, whether she knew what she was doing when she positioned herself like that.

"Aye, Tommy never did complain when a woman had a good fat arse on her," John grinned over at him.

"Aye, a woman with a good fat arse," he replied to John, "I don't go looking at the arses of fifteen-year-olds, fat or not."

"Aye, whatever you say Tom," John grinned back.

"Fuck off John," he snapped.

"Jesus – never mind trying to have a joke with you then," his brother replied, sliding off the counter and chucking his empty beer mug into the sink, "See you later lads, I know where I'm not wanted."

"Bye John," Rosie called out, her eyes still on the numbers.

He paused and turned in the door way, suddenly with the same tone of mischief in his voice that Ada had had – and Tommy didn't bloody well like it coming from either of them - "Rosie girl, would you mind coming over to mine and making a steak pie sometime?"

"I'll bloody well mind, I didn't bring her here so she could cook for you," he told John, then, to Arthur, "Or to do your bloody ledgers for you."

"Aye and you didn't bring her here to gawk at her fat arse either," John grinned, then high tailed it across the front room and got himself out the front door before Tommy could catch up to him.

He kicked the door angrily behind his brother, then stuck his hands in his pockets – and felt for all the world like he was a kid having a tantrum - but his feelings of ridiculousness were all mixed in with genuine anger and mortification and complete self-denial. And for all she did have a good fat arse on her, that wasn't why he'd brought her. He hadn't actually noticed her bloody arse before because she was behind the counter in the shop most of the time they spoke. This was what happened when Shelby's tried to do good things. They weren't cut out for it, weren't supposed to do them. And when they did they'd get fucked over and here he was getting fucked over by his own brother.

He returned to the kitchen breathing heavily and his eyes met hers. It was odd, how the warmth in those amber eyes could seem to cool him a little.

"Sorry, he's got a shitty sense of humour," he told her, pulling the cigarette case out and lighting up.

He wished Arthur wasn't fucking there so he could take her hand lightly as he said it, and she'd give it a squeeze and say it was fine. But they both knew, when other people were around – maybe other than Lily – she gave him more deference than she gave him when it was just them and he gave her more distance.

He could feel Arthur's gaze on him then, so he stared into the fire for a minute, then abruptly pulled open the curtains Polly had shut and headed into the shop to help clear out the last of the stragglers and get shut for the day. To help distract himself.

"Don't mind him Rosie, he's a grumpy git," he heard Arthur tell her.

Fucking Arthur and John. At least if Polly had her thoughts she kept them to herself.

How was it that only last night he had sat, his stomach warm and full on a home cooked meal and a baby on his knee feeling like a normal man, the woman who had cooked the meal sat next to him on the couch?

He should have known that wasn't going to last – he was Tommy fucking Shelby, after all. He needed to remind himself of that. He'd go see Lizzie Stark tonight, find out what the hell that was all about. Then he'd bend her over and fuck her and try not to be too disappointed in her scrawny arse. And then he'd pay for it. Because that was the only pleasures Shelby's could count on – the ones they paid the king's shilling for, fair and square. Fate didn't owe them any pleasures they didn't pay for, he was sure of that. And the pleasure of Rosie Jackson in his kitchen? He hadn't done enough in his entire life to earn the right to that pleasure.


	12. Chapter 12

He struggled to fuck Lizzie that night – and hated himself a bit when he managed to spurt his load only when he thought about his hand on Rosie's arse in the kitchen the night before and the way she'd wriggled back against it, as if it was entirely natural that his hand belonged there. Because he was quite sure his hand did belong there. But that didn't change the fact she was fifteen. And they were not living Gypsy. And, even if they were, he'd asked her to come so he could take care of her – not so he could claim her.

Despite the difficulty in his own release, Lizzie made it worth his while making the trip over to her – she was servicing a few communists and she knew who most of them were from hanging about outside their meeting places and rallies to pick up business. She wasn't servicing Freddie Thorne, but she was fairly sure there were no commies directly on Watery Lane. The vicinity – sure. But he'd known that anyway. They had rat holes all across the city. He would just make sure to put down some poison if any nests popped up too near him. It left the question of just what exactly Freddie had been doing on Watery Lane – he didn't even fancy it if his street was the quickest path between some of their locations, he didn't want them anywhere near his family. But his initial worry subsided, at least a little. As much as any of his worries ever subsided anyway.

The house was in darkness when he got back. He wondered what had been said, because Polly had locked the door. She never usually bothered when she was leaving. But the front was locked and so was the back he found, after he trekked away down the row of houses and climbed over a back wall to get into the lane. He thought about breaking in – and then he thought about the baby and the redhead lying up the stairs who would probably be terrified if they heard that going on. Or, he corrected himself, the baby would be terrified. The redhead would probably be down and wielding a kitchen knife, waiting for the moment the intruder got through. And he was sure he'd deserve it.

He glanced up at the darkened window of the room they slept in. If he threw some stones or something up there, he'd wake her up and she could come down let him in. He'd done that sometimes when it was John's room. But he wasn't ready to face her yet. He didn't know when he would be – or what he would say or do. Or if he said or did anything would it just make it worse? Maybe he should just act like he hadn't stormed out because his brother had accused him of looking at her arse?

Anger flashed through him. He'd left with no keys. In the space of a week he'd spent enough nights at home – or, more specifically, he'd been home early in the night – that he'd forgotten himself. He'd become a man who got home when the household was still active, before doors were locked. He didn't know that man. He wasn't that man. What the fuck did he think he was playing at? He'd gone running into this, knowing fine well that she was the only person he couldn't figure out. He'd practised that conversation in his head so many times, because he couldn't imagine her responses. She was the only person who surprised him. And now he was locked out and annoyed because he'd found himself in a situation he couldn't control – and he'd engineered the bloody situation himself.

He sank down, his back against the locked door. He wondered vaguely if Finn came out during the night these days if he needed a piss, or if he was still too scared to make the journey to the outhouse in the dark. He needed to talk to Finn, properly – he added that to his list. He should have waited the other day, after Arthur had taken Finn out. It was easier with girls in a way – he knew Ada needed the words, same as Rosie probably needed words, same as Lily needed words – all those reassurances that girls needed. All the softness and the gentleness. He knew he probably didn't remember enough that they were needed, but at least with girls it was expected, natural, to treat them softly. Finn was… He was at that age where the crying had to start stopping. He was at that age that was just the beginning of that period of not being a kid completely anymore – not able to take care of himself like a man yet but starting the period of time where that all needed to adjust. He had to start taking steps to becoming a man.

And it was ironic that Tommy was supposed to be the one who would help him to do it – when he was stuck outside feeling like a fucking kid. His mother used to lock the doors on them if they weren't back in on time. He'd honestly believed at the time that she'd gone to bed, but he knew now she would have been sitting up, wide awake, listening for them to come home and thump on the door and then she'd make her decision, once she knew they were safely round the back – or as safely round the back as any back in Small Heath was – whether she was going to let them in and skelp them the whole way from the door up to their beds or whether she was just going to let them stay outside all night for their trouble and see if she still felt like skelping them in the morning.

The first time he'd got John's attention with stones at his window, his brother hadn't had the sense to try and come down quietly to let him on. He'd been still half asleep and he'd made a racket, their mother had heard him on the stairs of the shop, had come running down her own stairs and met him in the kitchen, boxed his ears and sent him back up to bed. Tommy had been standing outside unaware and had turned around saying, "About fucking time," when the back door had opened – only to be faced with his mother instead of his brother. She'd put him over her knee in the kitchen for being late and sent him up to bed with the taste of soap in his mouth for his swearing. There were other times, when he'd slept out all night by choice and not come hammering at the door at all when he'd got it worse.

But there was a safety in it.

He rubbed his nose with his hand in annoyance. He was a man in his twenties and here he was, standing in the back, locked out, missing his fucking mother. But there was a safety back then – in knowing that someone else was in control, in knowing what he was supposed to do or not do, in that all being clear and easy. But he was fine for so long, he had been fine for so long, in taking that control for himself. And now he was losing it – but he wasn't handing it back to someone who would look after him, it was just going. And it scared him. He didn't know how to deal with that.

There was a feeling of content and security in being a child. And he hadn't realised he had been missing it. And then he had felt – not quite it again, but something like it, something akin to it.

He felt it when he had snatched the tongs off of her when she had been making bacon last week, laughing at her as he held them over his head out of her reach. He had felt it when he had held her on Saturday night. He had felt it on Sunday when they went to church – her hair had been fluffy after she had had her own bath on Saturday night (with all the doors and curtains shut and them all confined to the front room) and had just gotten fluffier with every brush stroke; so she had been sat next to him with a strange red halo in mass, her eyes murderous every time he laughed at her – looking for all the world like an angel of hell. He had felt it last night, helping Lily help her in the kitchen, sitting with them on the couch after dinner.

It was all mix up. He felt terrified that he couldn't control her, couldn't control what his life was around her. And at the same time, he felt content with her, safe and secure, almost like the way he had felt as a child but different too. Like he had a sudden understanding of his place in this whole fucked up world – it wasn't a child's place, but it was a certain, defined space that he was supposed to occupy.

But it wasn't just about him or her. It was about the whole family. He had to maintain control, he had to keep this family running because god only knew Arthur wasn't going to be able to.

But he wanted her. Oh god, he wanted her. He wanted her more than he'd ever wanted anything. But he wanted to give her everything too, he wanted to expand the business and give her a good life, like she deserved. And he needed to be in control to be able to do that. He wanted that little girl never to want for anything. And upon thinking that, he felt sick because by that little girl, he meant Lily. But he could have meant her – she was fifteen. And it didn't matter that she had the mentality of someone double that age, it was what it was. And regardless of what Ada or Polly said, they weren't living fucking Gypsy and the owner of the next mouth that came out of was going to fucking catch it.

He stood up and looked up at the window again. The people in the room behind that window were a decision he was both entirely sure about making and entirely terrified about now having made it. His hands instinctively went to his pockets.

He needed to clear his head. To figure things out. He needed to remind himself who he was – a man who took keys for a fucking start. Of all the doors in this city to be ones that were closed to him that he didn't have it in him to break down – it had to be the ones to his own house. In more ways than fucking one.

He turned and strode away from the house. Let it see if he cared if it didn't want to let him in.

Let it see that he cared enough not to break it, that he didn't want to disturb its occupants. That he wanted its doors to open to him again, full and intact, so he could come in and shut them behind him rather than leaving them hanging off the hinges because he had forced himself through them.

But he had disturbed the occupants, because even as he fell asleep in the stables in Charlie's yard, the shovels had left the house and followed him there, banging all around him.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the comments and kudos!
> 
> I just want to take the time and put a quick trigger warning up here for this chapter - it's going to include dialogue discussing how it feels to suffer with depression/anxiety.
> 
> I don't feel anyone could write fanfiction for Peaky Blinders without mentioning this because it's such a huge aspect of what Tommy is carrying around with him anyway, but I do want to make sure it's highlighted that that is in here so that anyone who might feel uncomfortable can skip this chapter.

He stayed away for three days in the end, sleeping in the stables in Charlie's yard and stewing in himself.

Curly woke him up the first morning, seeming – as Curly would – entirely unperturbed by his sudden presence. His uncle raised an eyebrow but didn't say anything.

The thing was, he wanted to go home straight away. But he didn't know what to say to her – still didn't know if he should say anything. He wanted to see her. He wanted to make it right. And he was disgusted with himself for being such a stupid fool as to have stormed out over John's idiocy in the first place. He'd made it into a thing it had never needed to be. If he'd just been able to laugh it off… But he didn't laugh much anymore. Or he hadn't done. She had brought laughter back to him. Still, he wasn't yet able to laugh at himself. That was beyond him. Not to his brothers, anyway.

If bloody Polly had just left the doors unlocked! If she hadn't meddled, he would have been there that morning, been able to make some excuse about being held up the night before – and he still didn't know what he would have said, but it would have been done with by now, one way or another… But it wasn't done. He was still in Charlie's yard, still trying to think of what he could say. He'd have words with Polly when he saw her. Though he rather suspected Polly intended to have words with him.

Fucking John. Fucking Polly. Why did people have to fucking meddle? And why did he have to let it bother him?

He spent the morning helping Curly, ignoring the questioning looks, and the afternoon and evening wandering the streets, still angry with his aunt and brother, still wanting to kick things, still with his hands stuffed in his pockets, still feeling like a kid having a temper tantrum.

And he still didn't figure out what to say - and the shovels came again that night, when he was back in the stable.

The second day was much the same, other than that he beat someone who looked at him the wrong way in the street. Didn't do to have anyone thinking they could look at a Shelby the wrong way. And he thought it might relieve some tension – but he was wrong.

It was the third morning that he started getting over himself.

He'd been in the tunnels again and then somehow he'd seen Charlie – and Charlie didn't belong in the tunnels so it couldn't be Charlie – it had to be another solider – another solider who shouldn't be there – enemy soldier – so he'd grabbed his gun and pointed and fired and shouted. And then he'd realised he wasn't in the tunnels and Charlie and Curly had him pinned down and had managed to wrestle his gun from him and throw it across the stable.

He had shaken them off him and gone and stuck his head under the pump, soaking his undershirt in the process.

His uncle followed him and stood a small distance away, lighting up a cigarette and offering it over to him.

Tommy took it and inhaled, glad for it. If black lungs was the price to pay for peace in his head, so be it.

"What's goin' on Tom?" his uncle asked.

He rolled his eyes. He didn't owe Charlie any explanation.

"Tom."

He looked up, his uncle's voice had gone uncharacteristically sharp.

"What?" he demanded.

"You mind how you speak to me," Charlie replied.

Tommy raised his eyebrows, scoffed and took a drag on the cigarette. But Charlie kept his eyes on him and simply raised his own eyebrows in response. Tommy had never seen his uncle press.

"Forgive me, Uncle," he offered sarcastically, inwardly still taken aback by the comment - enough to not point out that he hadn't actually spoken at all.

Charlie took orders from Tommy, like everyone else, most of the time. Where his uncle's sudden care for Tommy's tone came from, he didn't know. Even when he'd been a kid unless he spoke outrightly disrespectfully to Charlie, his uncle had never checked him for swearing or being sarcastic. He'd caught it from Charlie a few times for not doing as he was told, for wandering off to spend time with the horses rather than doing his jobs. But for the most part, Charlie had always let him be.

He threw the cigarette into the empty fire pit and crossed back over to the stable, ignoring his uncle's eyes. He turned his back and started pulling on the clothes he had discarded, preparing to leave for the day. But Charlie had crossed with him and was standing at the door, watching him.

"Was there something else?" he turned and challenged the man, his eyes glinting out from under his hat.

"Yeah, there was Tommy," his uncle replied.

He didn't respond, just stared - waiting for Charlie to spit it out, whatever it was.

"I've always looked out for you like a dad, Thomas."

He kept his face blank whilst inwardly reeling. Where the fuck was this going?

"God knows your dad wasn't up for the job," Charlie continued, not taking his eyes away from Tommy, who nodded curtly in agreement, "I live on Watery Lane too Tommy."

"Charlie, get to the fucking point," Tommy replied, fingering the cigarette holder in his pocket.

"Alright – I will. I went to speak to Pol, ask her what's going on – why you've been here in the same clothes for what's three mornings on the trot now. I met those girls, Tommy. Right sweet, the little one. And she's missing you."

He tried to continue to keep his face blank, but Lily's face swam into his head and it was like being stabbed in the heart. He had thought about Rosie the entire time. Had thought about how he'd embarrassed himself in front of her, thought about what the hell he could say to her to sort it out. He hadn't really realised Lily would have also noticed that he had gone for three days. He supposed he didn't think enough of Finn either. He supposed Finn was used to all of them and their ways.

"Don't be like your dad Tom – don't disappear and people don't know when or if you're coming back. You've been through it. Don't pass that shit on," Charlie said, his voice gruff.

Tommy didn't say anything. Didn't know what to say – and he was relieved when Curly shouted over, asking Charlie to come look at something.

"Be there in a minute Curly," his uncle said, then, focussing his eyes back on Tommy, "That's all I had to say. Just – just sort it out, Tommy. You're better than him."

He felt like he'd been stuck under the water pump again. He waited till Charlie had left. He didn't do expressing of emotions and he wasn't going to start now. Not with Charlie anyway. But as soon as there were no eyes on him he shoved his face into his hands and sat on the hay bales, thinking. The thing was, he probably needed to stop thinking, but he was no good at that. He thought. That was what he did.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

If he had had any faith, Tommy might have thought it was God who had thought the third day was quite enough. After his uncomfortable confrontation with his uncle that morning - it wasn't often he found himself on the back foot - he parked himself in The Garrison. Blessedly, it opened earlier on a Saturday and he intended to sit and drink and think some more about what the hell he was going to say when he went home – but he got pulled away from his whisky to get outside and help Danny.

Where Tommy had dreams, Danny had… episodes. Awake but not really awake. Not in reality. And that morning Danny had seen German soldiers peering out a window, preparing to shoot. There was glass everywhere and Tommy and Jeremiah had pulled Danny into the snug to extract it from his face after he had finally realised he was in England, that he was home. Or as home as any of them would ever be.

John and Arthur arrived in the snug as it was going on and then the three of them sat around awkwardly once Danny and Jeremiah had gone. He hadn't been at work either when he'd been staying away from the house. They'd have had a right to say something to him about that – if the situation was reversed he'd have told them not to let their personal shit affect their work. But they didn't say anything. He might be smarter, but his brothers were nicer people than he was; he knew that.

He made up his mind in that instant though that, at some point in the future, he was going to get an office somewhere else. So that no matter how much he fucked up at home, he couldn't be accused of fucking up work. So that he could always provide for them. Even if he couldn't figure out what to say or how to make shit okay, he could make sure that they were provided for that way.

He got up, unable to stand it any longer as his brothers looked between each other and over at him. He had been staring at the table and pretending not to feel their eyes on him but, the truth was, if even his brothers couldn't figure out what to say to him – he didn't stand a fucking chance of the conversation in the house going well.

"Tommy, mate," John's voice finally broke the silence just as he reached the door.

He didn't reply but stopped at the door of the snug.

"Mate – just go home."

He didn't reply, but he laid his head against the glass pane on the door, willing it to cool the pain in his head and not being surprised when it didn't.

He felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Tom – we came through the war," Arthur said, "We know what it's like – you make plans an' they get fucked. Sometimes it's whistles that call you up an' push you over the top. Sometimes it's your brother an' – well – it doesn't matter what else. But you get pushed over just the same – an' the plan doesn't fuckin' matter anymore, you've come over the line an' it's not what it was meant to be an' there's rats an' wires an' bodies an' you reckon you've found yourself in hell. But we made it through. We crossed the fucking fields an' the wires an' the bodies an' came back. So cross the fuckin' field, eh brother?"

Sometimes it's your brother and a girl, that's what Arthur had been going to say. But Tommy guessed they had decided not to mention it.

He turned to meet his older brother's eyes.

"I fucked up Arthur."

"Yeah – ya did Tom. But you're the smart one, so you know how to unfuck it. An' for whatever reason, she's wantin' ya to go home and unfuck it. Not that I ever thought I'd say a girl wantin' to unfuck anythin' was a good thing."

He gave his brother a smile in appreciation of his attempt at humour. They didn't really do emotions, so it was the necessary closure to anything that came close to it to make a joke. Made it easier.

But he couldn't bring himself to say anything - joking or serious - in return. He pulled open the door of the snug and left.

It was a few hours later, after he had wandered what felt like every street in Birmingham, before he plucked up the courage to do what his uncle and brothers had told him to – went home to face her. To face them.

He had thought he was prepared for how he would feel, thought he'd felt it all and got it in hand. But when Lily flew across the small front room towards him with her arms outstretched and he scooped her up and held her tiny body against him, pressing his face into her head, it came over him anew - even more than before - and he fought to breathe through the tightening he felt in him.

"I missed you Tommy," she said, so simply and so easily, as a child would.

"I – I missed you too, Lily," he choked out, holding on to her as though she were the only thing anchoring him to the earth.

He removed his face from where he had pressed it into her to land kisses all across her little head, and, when he did so, his eyes met Rosie's.

She had stood up off the seat and her eyes burned like the fiery sword of an angel and let him know he was not forgiven.

"Aunt Polly said you go away sometimes, Tommy, said it's just something you do," Lily told him.

"No Lily, it was something I used to do but that was the last time – the last time I ever do that again, I promise you," he gave the child his words, but he looked to her sister's flame lit eyes when he said them.

"Good, because it wasn't very nice and I didn't like it," Lily replied.

"I know – I know it wasn't. I'm sorry Lily, I'm really sorry. Will you please forgive me?" he asked her, his arms tight around her body, realising he needed her to forgive him.

"I forgive you Tommy," he said, her voice slightly muffled as he held her so tightly against him.

"I don't deserve you Lily," he told her, rolling his eyes to the ceiling to try and stop them from watering.

"No. You don't."

They were the first words she said to him. And they were fair, he couldn't deny that. But he felt as though his heart was breaking to look at her, in all her fierceness, and have her tell him that he wasn't good enough. He knew it, of course he knew it, but he would have taken a dozen bullets and crossed a hundred fields rather than hear those words from her. And yet, what else had he expected?

"Where did you go, Tommy?" Lily asked him, settling back in his arms a little to look up at him.

He pressed another kiss to her cheek and said, "I went inside my head, Lily. It's all a mess in there sometimes and I used to go away and be on my own to try and sort it out. But I realised this time Lily, I sort it out better when I'm at home. So I won't go away again - I promise."

Rosie crossed over to where he stood with her sister and took Lily out of his arms, saying, "Come on you – your hair's still wet, let's get back over by fire."

He could have sobbed as she removed the child from his grasp, could have fallen to his knees and wept. And he would, if that was what she wanted. He would kneel before her and offer every prayer and every apology and every penance and every sacrifice and every damn form of worship he could, if she would only offer him absolution. He didn't believe in god. But he believed in her.

She placed Lily down where she had been sitting before, her two bears in front of the hearth with her, and then settled herself down in the single seat, picking up a book and not looking at him.

He stood there for a while, unsure what he was supposed to do – what she wanted him to do – what he was allowed to do.

He heard water splashing and figured that Ada was in the bath in the kitchen, probably getting Polly to help her rinse her hair. He thought about going through to sit with them, but he also had the feeling he had to prove that he wasn't going to go away again, even outside this room.

He cleared his throat, "Rosie…"

She moved her eyes very slowly and deliberately up to him, glanced to the baby on the hearth and then back to him.

"Later."

He nodded. Alright. At least later, no matter what she had to say to him, she would be saying something.

He still felt awkward, lingering just inside the room. He didn't feel he could sit – he felt even entering the little set up with the chairs and sofa around the fire would be crossing into her territory and he hadn't been invited. It was like she was radiating some kind of shield with her heavenly power, a threshold he could only be carried over when she deigned it. And he could do nothing but pray she would deign it. He was glad for a moment when the door opened and Finn came in, glancing at the clock - clearly having been told to be in for a certain time.

"Hiya," Finn offered on seeing him, but passed by him to get to the kitchen door and say, "I'm in Aunt Pol."

"Just as well, Ada'll be done soon. Away and play with Lily until I shout you."

"I don't want to play with Lily," he grumbled, shooting a dark look at the child in front of the hearth, as if she had suggested it herself.

His aunt sighed, "Well away and play upstairs until I shout you then."

"Right," Finn told her, then, going into the kitchen to go make his way up the stairs, he told his aunt, "Tommy's back."

"I heard," was all the response she gave.

His stomach tightened, knowing that his aunt and sister would have heard everything he had said. But even if they'd been sitting in the room when he came in, he'd have said it. He had meant it. Holding the child in his arms had pulled the words and promises from a place in him he didn't quite know or understand – and they'd come out with such a force, they'd appeared in his throat demanding to be spoken – he didn't think he'd have been able to hold them back even if he'd wanted to. And he wouldn't have wanted to. Because he wanted them – Lily and Rosie and, hell, even Ada and Polly and Finn too – to know that he meant them. He needed them to know that he meant never to go again. That he wouldn't go again.

Still, for all he had swallowed his pride, it was a long and awkward evening for him. When Ada and Polly appeared through to sit in front of the fire and undertake the drying and curling of Ada's hair as they did every Saturday night – usually to no real results as Ada's hair defiantly refused to take the ringlets it was supposed to – he eventually found the courage to sit on the couch.

His sister and aunt gave him about us much reception as Finn did. And he supposed he couldn't really question that, because how many times had he disappeared with no warning, slept out and returned back a day or so later? Christ, he got on his high horse about maintaining certain standards with them in a way that Arthur would have been inconsistent with, but he was inconsistent himself. He had just never confronted it before. His aunt had seen him do it since he was a child, and Ada and Finn were used to it. But Rosie still hadn't looked at him and he knew it wasn't okay. And how had he ever thought it was okay? His mother had never thought it was okay when he had disappeared on her.

He was thinking about her more and more these days, he realised. And he hadn't, not for so long. His mother wouldn't have been as reserved as Rosie was – there would have been no 'later' – he would have got his arse tanned regardless of who was around the minute he walked in the door after he'd taken off for any length of time, with whatever she could lay her hands on. But despite her more introverted nature, he reckoned Rosie and his mother would have got along just fine.

He almost started crying again when Lily climbed into his lap to press her tiny little mouth to his cheek before she went off to bed.

His aunt cleared Finn and Ada off to their own beds not too long after. Other than when she had taken Lily up to bed, Rosie had sat with her book the entire time, answering Polly or Ada or Finn when they asked her things, but not engaging in any conversation. He barely said a word either.

"Right, I'm off for a drink," Polly announced, "I'll see you in the morning. Make sure an' have a bath before church, won't you love?" she laid a hand down on Rosie's shoulder and the girl smiled up at her. There was something happening between the two women, he realised. Something he wasn't part of.

"Bye Polly, thanks for watching Lily today," Rosie said, squeezing the hand his aunt had laid on her.

"Thanks? God there's something I don't get much of," Polly snorted, then, "Give him hell, love."

She smacked him on the side of the head over the back of the sofa as she walked by but didn't say anything to him.

They were silent for a while after the door had shut behind his aunt.

He broke first, his voice low and quiet, pleading, "Rosie…"

She looked at him then, with some indefinable look in her eye, she said, quite calmly, "I was planning to slap your face when you got back."

He blinked at her, not saying anything. He would've let her, he'd still let her, if it would make anything better.

"But then you said the thing about being in your head."

He processed that. It wasn't what he had been expecting – but tonight was his night for the truth and so he offered it, "It's all smoke and mud in there sometimes."

He'd never told anyone. Not before tonight. And again, here he was, giving it to her - feeling like he was handing her an axe and laying his head on a block.

But she didn't pick it up and wield it, she just nodded, "I get it. I get busy in my head too. Sometimes it needs cleared out – and I don't know how to do that half the time."

"I'm sorry," he offered her again, wondering how many times he had ever said that phrase in his life before she had entered it. It was becoming too familiar to him, he kept saying it – kept fucking up. He didn't ever used to say it. He would have thought he had never fucked up before either. But that wasn't true. He just hadn't acknowledged it when he did.

"I know," she nodded again – and he got the feeling she did actually know, "The thing is, Thomas - if this was just me and just you – it would be fine. But it's not just me and just you. Lily's been trying to stay awake late at night, hoping you'll come home before she goes to bed. I've been telling her you've been working early and late and you'd be back soon. And then Polly told her you just go away sometimes and she shouldn't worry. She was distraught, waiting on you coming back and none of us could tell her when that might be."

"I'm sorry."

"Stop saying you're fucking sorry Thomas. You told me before – apologising isn't who you are."

He dropped his eyes to the floor.

He exhaled sharply then said, "Besides - I don't put store by words. Anyone can say shit. People's actions tell you a hell of a lot more than their words."

He raised his eyes to her. He didn't know if he entirely believed that, though he reckoned she believed herself. He didn't see that anyone who read as much as her didn't put store by words. In fact, he figured she probably hurt more when someone gave her words, and she took them, and then their actions didn't add up to their words. That pain was behind the tone she spoke in, and he wondered whose words had damaged her so much that she'd decided to tell herself never to believe words again. And then he realised it could have been his - because he had promised to take care of her. And he'd abandoned her.

"You can do what you like with me, but not with her. It's not fair, she's a baby. If I get thinking I made the wrong decision here Thomas – if I get thinking that your version of taking care of a kid is buying them a bunch of stuff and then disappearing on them with no warning – I will take her and we will go and we will not come back."

His heart stopped. He could do what he liked with her? What in hell did she think he wanted to do with her? Use her and discard her like yesterday's newspaper? And the idea of her going and not coming back… She would too, that was the thing. He believed her because there was a steel in her voice when she spoke about Lily. She would do whatever she had to to protect the kid. Hell, she'd come here, agreed to this in the first place because of the bab.

"Please…" he began and trailed off, not knowing how to end. He didn't know enough words to say all he wanted to say, to ask, to plead of her.

"It's not just you and me Thomas. It's more than that. It's more difficult, more complicated. And there's a hell of a lot more can go wrong. I can deal with it. She can't. And Finn and Ada – they might be used to it Tommy, but that doesn't mean it's okay."

"I know," he nodded.

There was silence for a few minutes – and he was just about to try and say something – anything – to fill it – when she began to speak again, speaking like every word was a great effort.

"I get stuck in my head sometimes," she told him, "It's like being drowned in imagining everything that could go wrong and trying to stop thinking about it and not being able to – and I try and be all fucking Pollyanna and play the fucking glad game and be grateful and I can't. It's like being held under water and thrashing to get out but it's like there's something that's - that's part of me but it's not me at the same time - like I'm holding myself there but I'm being held too. My mind goes over and over all the shit that's happened, even if I try not to think about it, my mind pushes it all up to me to remind me of it, like it wants to make sure I know how much has gone wrong so I don't get thinking that the pattern of shit in this world will change."

He nodded, "And you see everything you want being pulled away from you?"

She nodded.

She did understand.

"I'm sorry for being busy in my head," he told her, reaching out across the space to pat her knee a little. He was worried that it was too much, but she didn't slap his hand away. She didn't take it either. She didn't flinch, nor did she embrace the offering. She just looked at him. Blank and unyielding. But then there was a flicker...

"I'm sorry you got stuck there," she told him – and he felt like she truly meant it, that she was sorry for him - "I don't know how to fix it – not permanently. I'd love to clear it all out of my own head and I can't. I don't know how. And it's like the harder I try not to let it take over, the stronger that hand that's holding me under the water becomes. So sometimes I think it's just easier if I lie back in the night and let it take me. Because in the morning I can get up. Y'see, Tommy - Lily is my focus. No matter how bad it gets, no matter how bad the nights are – she's my focus. I get up every morning and I do what I have to and I pretend everything is fine and I go to work and I function and I do it for her. Because I have to. So find a focus Tommy, that's all I can offer."

He wondered if the black circles under her eyes came from the same source as the blackness in his lungs after all.

"I'm sorry you get stuck there," he said, squeezing her knee with the hand she hadn't shoved off.

She looked into the fire for a bit, then said, "It hadn't been so bad lately. But the last few nights…"

He got on his knees then. He got on his knees in front of her and laid his head in her lap, his hands clasped on top and murmured, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," over and over again.

She let him go on for a bit and then her fingers pulled his clasped ones apart and threaded around them, her thumbs rubbing circles into the back of his hands.

"I know," she whispered, "Tommy, I know. I understand. But you can't do it again – not like that. Please don't do that to us again. Please. I can't - I can't put her through that."

He gripped her hands and looked up at her. 

"I promise," he offered her.

She nodded, she accepted it and he kissed her hands in gratitude.

It wasn't quite absolution. But he felt that, finally, after years of not realising he had been searching for it, he might be on the road to redemption.


	14. Chapter 14

"You comin' to church again Tommy?" Finn asked, a clear note of amazement in his voice when Tommy appeared in the kitchen the next morning in his suit.

"I am indeed Finn," he said, coming across the kitchen to his brother, "Gotta take care of my soul."

He ruffled Finn's hair then let his hand rest on the back of his brother's head, "And when we get back you and me's going to have a talk Finn, man to man, alright?"

Finn's face dropped a bit, "Is this about Lily?"

Tommy kept his own face blank, wondering what was going on there, "Why would it be about Lily?"

"Aunt Polly said she was going to get you to give me a talkin' to," Finn mumbled.

"Did she now?" he wondered if that was why his brother had seemed so quick to move past him the night before, "Well she hasn't said anything to me – so maybe you could fill me in on what she wants me to give you a talking to about when we have our talk, eh?"

Finn sighed, "Do I have to?"

Tommy smiled, "Tell you what, we'll have our talk and you can see if you feel like telling me or not, that suit you?"

Finn looked up at him, confusion on his face. He supposed the boy didn't get offered choices very often. Tommy just hoped he could steer him into making the right ones. He smoothed his brother's untidy collar and reached for the tea pot.

"Where are all the women this morning anyway Finn? We're not outnumbered for once."

"Rosie's taking Lily out back, she won't go herself. Ada's not down yet."

"Why won't she go herself?"

"Told her about Maggie Murphy," Finn mumbled.

Tommy snorted, "Aye and is that why Aunt Polly thinks I should give you a talking to?"

Finn shrugged.

Maggie Murphy was one of those childhood legends. She had come to them first from their Uncle Charlie, who had got it from an Irish gypsy. According to him, you had to say her name three times to summon her – and Arthur, Tommy and John had spent a lot of nights daring each other to try and bring her down upon them. Tommy had been eight or nine, young enough he had believed in her, but old enough he thought it was fucking stupid to summon an old banshee down on them and refused to do it. Freddie Thorne had been the boldest of them – or maybe it was his lack of gypsy blood that just meant he just didn't have the proper respect for magic and banshees and old hags. They had told him about her and he had stood in the middle of Watery Lane shouting her name, until Mrs Shelby had come out and told him if he didn't stop the racket she'd give him something to make a racket about.

They'd been sat at the same kitchen table Finn was now sitting at for their dinner that night and the Shelby's mother had demanded, "Right Freddie, what's your business with Maggie Murphy? I don't care for that woman to take my boys away, much as I could line you all up and leather you one after the other at times." They had told her that she had it all wrong, Maggie Murphy wouldn't take them away – she was just an old banshee who would appear and scream at them till they fainted.

"Aye – that's the nonsense that comes of it when men try an' tell stories," Mrs Shelby had said rolling her eyes. She'd always been good at stories, good at dropping her voice to make them all lean in to listen to her – able to give all the different characters voices. She'd told them that Maggie Murphy was no banshee – she was an old witch who never had had any children of her own. She came when mothers called upon her to say they couldn't cope with their badly-behaved children anymore and she took the children away and locked them up in her castle, so they could make up for the children she never had herself. But the problem was, their mother had told them as they'd all gawked at her - their dinner entirely untouched while she talked - once she was called she had to have the souls of the children she'd been promised, you couldn't change your mind once she got there. And if you called her and didn't give her the children, she'd haunt the outhouse waiting to grab children who went in alone.

"Aye well fuckin' done Freddie," John had snapped, which earned him a quick smack upside the head.

"Freddie's not a mother John, unless there's a whole load goin' on that I don't know about," their mother had said, "But you keep using language like that and I might call upon old Maggie Murphy after all. In fact, the woman that moved out a few doors down – I think she called her before they moved and promised her that wee girl. But I think she took the bab with her when she moved, so Maggie might be out wandering, looking for a Watery Lane soul right this very minute to make up for it!"

John had pissed the bed a few nights later, too scared to make the journey out in the dark – so Tommy liked to think now that his mother had paid for scaring them when she had had to deal with that. And that they were even for the fact that he had also waited till daylight to use the outhouse for the best part of a few years after that – not that he'd ever admitted it and not that he'd ever managed not to hold through the night.

"Tommy!" came Lily's joyful voice from the back door, interrupting his wander down memory lane.

He didn't know if he'd ever get over how happy she always seemed to be to see him. It wasn't normal that people were happy to see him.

"There's my best girl," he said, putting down the tea he had just poured and holding out his arms to her.

She came to him and let him pick her up and rest her on his hip, her arms going around his neck and her face smushing in against his.

"You feel much better than yesterday," she told him.

"I feel much better do I?" he asked, amused.

"Your face is less scratchy."

"Ah, well I shaved Lily – so you could snuggle in without being itched."

"You smell better too."

"Are you saying I didn't smell good yesterday?" he asked, in mock shock.

She giggled and nodded at him.

"Hmm – well let me see what you smell like," he said, running his face across her head and sniffing. "Now let me see – bit of a whiff of the fire – maybe some jam – some sugar – a soft bed – oh, and a bit of a bear smell too - well Lily, all in all - I think you smell delightful," he announced, pulling her tightly in then throwing her up in the air and catching her as she laughed.

He kissed her forehead and settled her back down on his hip before looking over to her sister who had appeared in behind her and was watching them from over by the sink.

"How did you sleep?" she asked him.

He nodded, "Better. You?"

She nodded in turn, "Better."

They exchanged small smiles and Tommy's heart lightened, knowing it would be alright. He had known that last night really, but he'd gone to bed still terrified he would wake in the morning and she'd have changed her mind.

That was the battle with his mother, towards the end of her days – they'd all talk her out of doing something and she'd agree it was a bad idea and go to her bed, then wake up in the morning wanting to do it again – anything and everything from painting walls she'd painted the week before to picking fights with the neighbours – right through to her final act that they'd failed that last time to convince her out of.

"Rosie!" Ada's voice came from the stairs.

"What?"

"Can you come help me with untying these curls?"

"Jesus Christ Ada, what do I know about hair?" she replied, rolling her eyes but starting to move across the kitchen in the direction of the stairs, "There was a reason I cut mine off y'know!"

He watched as she disappeared up the stairs in the direction of his sister's voice. The turf war seemed to be going alright. And there was definitely a bond happening with his aunt and Rosie too. He regretted disappearing, but if there was a silver lining to come from it…

He sat down in the chair next to Finn, swinging Lily round so she was on his knee.

"Now Lily, I hear Finn's been telling you about Maggie Murphy," he said, grinning at his brother.

She nodded.

"What did he tell you?"

"He said she'd grab me and take me away when I go to the toilet."

"Now see he's got it all wrong Lily – Maggie Murphy does hide in the outhouse sometimes, but she's only there for naughty little boys. Girls that smell like jam and sugar and bears have got nothing to worry about."

"Are you sure?" she said, her eyes flicking between him and Finn.

"Lily you've never had a big brother, have you?" he asked her.

She shook her head.

"Well now you've got Finn, and Finn had me and John and Arthur. And there's a tradition amongst big brothers that they try and scare their younger brothers and sisters, isn't that right Finn?" he reached over and hooked the arm not wrapped around Lily around Finn's neck, pulling him into him.

Finn was suddenly grinning too, and he nodded up.

"It's what brothers do to show they love you," Tommy told Lily, his arm still around Finn, "So when Finn here was your age, we told him about Maggie to scare him and now he's trying to scare you. But he's got it all wrong because he forgot you were a girl and Maggie wouldn't come for you."

Lily seemed to consider this for a while before saying, "It's not very nice."

He smiled, trying to contain his laughter at the simplicity of her worldview, "Nah it's not very nice Lily, I know. But it's what us brothers do, because boys are awful Lily and you shouldn't have anything to do with them other than the ones in this house. And Finn," he turned to look at his brother, "Finn's never had a little sister. So he's learning too – he's learning how to be a big brother at the same time you're learning how to have a big brother. But you'll both figure it out. And I promise you Lily, big brothers can be quite useful to have around sometimes. Because they tease you, but they don't let anyone else tease you. Isn't that right Finn?"

"Yeah, that's right," Finn nodded, his voice taking on an enthusiasm he hadn't had before – one he only ever heard in Finn's voice when they asked him to do small, inconsequential jobs for the Peaky Blinders. He probably needed to start giving the boy more responsibility if he expected him to start acting more responsibly.

Tommy ruffled his brother's hair again before reaching for his tea. He hoped that, whatever it was Polly had wanted him to give Finn a talking to about with Lily, that he might have covered it in an easy way – thanks to Maggie Murphy of all the bloody things to use to achieve household harmony.

Rosie had been right – it wasn't just the two of them. It was far more complicated than that. And it might have been alright, like she'd said, if it was just the two of them. But if there was something Tommy knew how to do, better than anyone else in the family, it was face the hard truths of reality, the hard truths of the world. And the hard truth was that he had to prove himself here. He had to make good on all the promises he'd offered not just her, but his family too. But if he did that, he might stand a chance. A chance with the one person who seemed to know and understand his fucked-up mind.

He'd do a better job, going forward, of keeping it to himself. He knew his brothers knew – which was ironic because John might have only been making a joke in the first place, but his own response had given him away to them. And he knew Polly knew because Polly always knew.

And he suspected that she had her own suspicions herself.

But it wasn't time yet. She wasn't going to accept him yet. And nor should she, she was fifteen. And he had to let that pass because right now he wanted to protect whatever innocence there might be left in her and he also wanted to strip her of it. It wasn't fair on her.

She seemed so much older than her years because her life had forced her to be. He'd brought her here on the promise he'd look after her and Lily. That he'd try and give her the chance to not be so much older than her years. That he'd take care of her – take care of them both. That was what he had to do. And, in the future, if he succeeded in proving she could rely upon him to do just that – maybe he stood a chance.


	15. Chapter 15

The harmony within the house lasted far longer than Tommy figured he could have really rightfully hoped for. He was called upon a few times to harden his voice or dish out some quick-fire discipline – and that happened more and more as Ada got more and more carried away with her birthday plans – but as November came to its close and Ada's birthday week loomed he had settled into a more placid role in the house than he had ever occupied before. What surprised him was that he enjoyed it.

He started spending his more of his Saturdays at home – Polly would still come over during the day and keep an eye on Lily whilst he got some work done, but then he and Lily would walk over to meet Rosie from the tobacco shop at five o'clock when she finished, and he'd sit in with them on Saturday nights until Rosie went to her bed. Sometimes, after she did, he even went to his own bed instead of heading out.

He was still a regular at the Garrison, it was good business that he was out and about and there were still things – and people – needing taken care of, but he found himself more and more making the effort to get his business done during business hours where he could. And she had taken to making dinner every Tuesday night, so he'd taken to making sure he was in for that too. If there were night time deeds to be done, they didn't happen on Tuesdays.

He'd noticed Polly making her exits earlier as well, leaving them so he and Rosie would end up on the sofa together with Lily playing around them – Finn and Ada still preferred being outside with their friends, even in the winter, but Lily was too young to join in with them and Rosie was… disinclined to join in with them. Sometimes they'd talk whilst they sat, sometimes she'd curl up with a book and he'd tuck her seemingly permanently cold feet under his leg whilst he read the paper or looked over his ledgers – contemplating new ways to get money through the door. It was vaguely inconvenient that, at a time when his home life seemed to be more important than it had ever been, his business life was also becoming more important – he had to succeed, he had to make it work, he had to achieve what he wanted to – for her. For them.

Of course, he kept to his resolve and gave her more distance than before too. Controlling his impulses around her had always been slightly more difficult than it was around anyone else, and it was even more so now she was in his house – and seeming so much like she belonged there. But he managed. Her feet were as much as he touched regularly – he stopped himself from smacking her backside as he often wanted to, even when her tongue gave him perfect justification. Sometimes it was as if she were deliberately provoking him – and he fancied he caught a look of disappointment in her eye occasionally when he simply tutted and shook his head at her. But he treated her in as much of a sisterly fashion as he could. Or maybe, if he had been taking the lead from one of her books he'd have called it a gentlemanly fashion, but he'd never proclaimed himself a gentleman and he wasn't going to start now. It would seem, to his mind, a way of tempting fate.

She and Ada had settled into some sort of truce as far as he could tell; Rosie had got this Becker lad – and Tommy was still more interested than he cared to admit about exactly who Becker was – to agree to come to Ada's party and between that and the cake she had agreed to provide Ada had started backing off. Tommy wasn't entirely sure what Ada had offered to the truce, but Rosie seemed inclined to accept whatever it was.

His sister's actual birthday was on Sunday, but she was having her friends over on Saturday afternoon – and as the week approached Tommy regretted that he had ever let it go ahead.

As far as he was concerned, it all started going downhill over their Tuesday night dinner.

"What are you going to wear?" Ada asked Rosie, shovelling roast potato into her mouth.

"I want to wear my Christmas dress!" Lily announced, smiling.

"You're not coming Lily, it's a grown-up party," Ada replied, rolling her eyes.

Tommy hid his smile – Polly had already advised him to leave off, that Ada was taking her party very seriously and he should let her. She had also advised that if Ada was as taken up with her party as she seemed to be it was keeping her out of other mischief – and Tommy had a funny feeling that piece of advice was actually Rosie's reaching him via Polly for some political reason that had to do with the turf war truce and he didn't entirely know what it meant but he was heeding it. He had a nasty feeling Becker or Wrighty or whoever else was somehow involved though.

Lily's face fell, and Rosie jumped in saying, "We're having a birthday tea on Sunday for Ada's actual birthday Lily, so we'll be at that."

"Can I wear my Christmas dress?"

"Is it Christmas?" Rosie asked with a raised eyebrow, her voice slightly more firm than normal.

The girl shook her head.

"Then no, you can't wear a Christmas dress – even if you had it yet. Which you don't."

Lily sighed despondently.

"What's a Christmas dress?" Tommy enquired of the sad six-year-old.

"My Christmas dress!" she said – as though it was perfectly obvious and he was supposed to know.

"We haven't even bought this year's Christmas dress yet Lily," Rosie replied – her tone still the one she used when she was being firm with her sister.

"Yeah but I've picked it – the one in the window!"

"Every year once the tree is up in town we go to the shops and Lily gets a dress to wear on Christmas day," Rosie explained to the table, "She's seen one she likes for this year but we haven't bought it yet so I don't know why she thinks its hers – or why she thinks she'll have it to wear on Sunday when the tree isn't even up yet! You can wear your church dress on Sunday, same as every Sunday Lily, it's very pretty."

Tommy knew from her tone that Lily absolutely was getting the dress from the window, but the child clearly didn't.

"I don't want to wear my church dress to a party!"

"It's not a party it's a birthday tea."

"Aunt Polly said it's the family party, didn't you?" Lily complained.

"Well I did love, but you don't need to get all dressed up - I'll be wearing what I wear to church in the morning," Polly told the girl in a soothing tone, rubbing her arm.

"I want to wear my Christmas dress!" the voice was whining and not the usual sweet voice he expected to hear from her.

"Do you want to be sitting in your room and not coming at all?" Tommy asked her, raising an eyebrow at the tone.

She glared at him and he frowned, "I don't like that look Lily – give me my best girl smile?"

She continued to glower.

"Oh dear, looks like Lily won't be coming to the birthday tea then if she's going to frown at everyone because she doesn't want to wear her church dress that she loved so much when it was new!" Rosie said lightly, cutting up her chicken and deliberately not looking at her sister.

The child started to cry.

"She does that all the time," Finn muttered, rolling his eyes.

"She's only little," Tommy said, nudging his brother in the ribs, then, "Lily love, don't cry, come on – if you give me my best girl smile now and promise that's what you'll do on Sunday you can come to the family party."

She slid off her chair and came around the table to climb into his lap. He noticed Polly and Rosie exchanging eye rolls.

"I don't want to wear my church dress Tommy!"

He cuddled her close and kissed her head before asking gently, "Why not?"

"I want my Christmas dress!" she sobbed.

"But you don't have your Christmas dress yet and even if you did it's for wearing on Christmas day my little love – you can't wear it before then," he said, bouncing his knee to soothe her.

"But I want it!" she cried, her tears not letting up.

"Well 'I want' doesn't get Lily," his aunt interjected before he could reply, "And your sister has to work very hard to save up for that Christmas dress you're after. Your church dress is lovely."

"No!" she shrieked, shaking her head.

"Lily bab, what's going on?" Tommy asked, "You're not this upset about a dress, are you?"

"She is Thomas, because she's six and thankfully a dress is the extent of her worries," his aunt said, getting up and pulling Lily off of him. The child wrapped her arms around his neck, but she was no match for a determined Polly and she began screaming and kicking as soon as her limpet hold was removed.

"Lily, I'm putting you back in your chair now and you're going to stop this and be a good girl," his aunt told her, plopping her unceremoniously back down in the chair between herself and Ada that she had got off, then sitting back down and picking up her own cutlery to go back to her food.

Lily didn't stop though, the screaming continued – and she tried to get off the chair again, looking wildly to him but it was Rosie who raised her voice this time and said, "Lily you stay on that chair where Aunt Polly put you."

Her sister's tone proved sufficient to keep her on the chair – though she was standing rather than sitting - but didn't stop the crying.

Finn put his hands over his ears and Ada rolled her eyes and said, "Lily will you shut up – I want to talk to Rosie about my party."

"Ada she's a baby!" Tommy snapped at his sister.

"Cause I'd have got away with that when I was six!" she snapped back at him, rolling her eyes.

"She's not wrong Thomas," his aunt said wryly.

"Just ignore her and she'll cry herself out and settle," Rosie sighed, then, raising her voice for the child's benefit, "And she'll not get any cake after her dinner if she doesn't behave herself. Now, what about your party Ada?"

"What are you wearing to it?" Ada bellowed over the top of Lily's screeching.

"My church dress I wear every Sunday?"

"No, on Saturday?"

"Ada I'm working on Saturday."

"No, you're not – it's my party."

"Yeah but I'll be there on Sunday."

"No, you'll be there both days!" Ada ordered – Tommy noticed that her tone wasn't entirely unlike his own, which was unusual for Ada.

"Well you didn't ask me to come on Saturday and I haven't asked for it off work," Rosie said, shrugging.

"What do you mean I didn't ask you to come? Jesus Christ! I can't have the boys there without you!"

"Well I did think it was a bit odd that you wanted them there, but you never said I was meant to stay," Rosie replied, a genuine perplexity on her face.

Ada's voice had a distinct note of panic, "Are you actually thick? I'm hardly going to ask you to make me a cake and not stay to the party."

"Sorry?" Rosie offered with a shrug, "Not much I can do."

"Well get it off!"

"I can't – someone would need to cover me."

"Tommy!" Ada whined at him, her tone now more akin to Lily's.

"I'll sort it – but you should have asked her properly Ada," Tommy replied, tempted to take a leaf out of Finn's book and stick his fingers in his ears over all the racket.

"What do you mean you'll sort it – I can't afford to take it off?" Rosie turned on him across Finn's head.

"I mean I'll make sure you get it off – and why can't you afford to take it off?" he frowned back. Surely her one meal a week that she made wasn't eating an entire day's wages every time? He'd need to have a word with Polly about what the bloody cost of food was these days.

"Well that screaming child wants a Christmas dress for a start," she said, indicating her sister, "Though why she thinks that's the way to behave to get one I don't know."

If it was an attempt to calm Lily down, it didn't work - the child's screams raised.

"Christmas dress! I want my Christmas dress! Go to work! Christmas dress!" she stamped her foot and the chair wobbled. Thankfully Polly was quick to stable it, but his aunt's eyes turned on him, telling him to do something.

"Right," he said, banging his cutlery down and standing, which ceased Lily's cries for a minute – out of surprise more than anything else, he imagined, "Lily, you calm down and say sorry to your sister, you're being very ungrateful."

"No!" she shook her head and stamped her foot again.

He was taken aback for a moment – he wasn't used to people telling him no, and he certainly wasn't used to a child doing it. Ada was quite right that he'd have given her a good solid smack when she was a baby if she'd acted like Lily currently was – and probably before now. But Rosie's approach seemed different to his – with her advice to them all just being to ignore her. Except he'd spoken to her now so he clearly wasn't ignoring her, and he'd stood up so he had to follow through with something.

He walked to her chair and placed his hands on her waist to pick her up from behind, his heart breaking slightly as she tried to twist and reach out her arms to him. All he wanted to do was cuddle her in and rock her and kiss her till her tantrum subsided – and he'd buy her the dress himself if she'd just stop crying.

He carried her over to the corner of the room and tried to set her down – but she had begun to kick again when she realised he wasn't going to cuddle her, so he couldn't get her to stand. He ended up pressing her face gently into the corner, hoping the space would contain her enough to still her. It worked slightly for the kicking but didn't quieten her sobs.

"Lily listen to me a minute please," he said, trying to keep his tone even rather than plead with her like he was inclined to – he had a feeling his aunt would never let him live it down if he begged a six-year-old.

She didn't quieten, and he had to raise his voice, "Lily Shel- Lily Jackson! You listen to me right now!"

The child didn't seem to notice his slip of the tongue and she seemed to decide to switch tactic then and took a great gulping breath before shutting her mouth, her face starting to go red quickly.

"Lily – I don't like this behaviour," he told her, "It's not very nice. Breathe Lily, come on, I know you can't hold your breath forever. Now, my good girl is in there somewhere, I know she is."

The girl let out the breath she was holding and screamed again, "No! No no no no no!"

"Yes she is Lily, my best girl is in there," he said, his voice loud over the shouts, "Now you're going to stay in this corner till she's back in control of you and this nastiness has gone away, alright?"

"No!"

"Lily!"

"Don't want to!"

"I know – but I don't want you over at the table and upsetting everyone with this behaviour Lily, so until it changes you have to stay over here. Once you're ready to say sorry you can come back to the table."

"No!"

"Well you can stay here all night, it's your choice," he told her, letting go slightly of his hold on her waist. She wobbled but found her footing when she realised she wasn't fully supported, and he stood up, his heart twisting at the idea of leaving her.

"Tommy!"

She had turned and was staring at him.

He crouched and raised an eyebrow expectantly, "Are you ready to say you're sorry and come back to the table?"

"No!"

He stood back up, surprised at the lack of co-operation, "Alright, well get your nose in the corner then Lily."

She didn't turn back around. He sighed and took the step back to her, whisking her around and holding her firmly for a second before letting go and returning to the table, not looking back at her.

She turned again, "Rosie!"

She glanced up from her dinner, "Lily?"

The child screamed at her.

"Lily Tommy just told you – you stay over there and face the corner until you're going to be a good girl," she said, her voice nonplussed.

"Rosie! I don't like it!" she said, stamping her foot. 

He wondered if she'd always done that or if it had been picked up from Ada and he glared at his sister, who was eating her dinner and didn't catch his look.

"Well I don't either, but we warned you if you didn't behave you wouldn't go on Sunday, and I told you you wouldn't get any cake tonight and you didn't care about either of those things – you just let your temper take over."

"No!"

"Yes, you did Lily," Tommy answered her, pulling her glare over to him, "So you turn around and face that corner like I've told you until you want to say you're sorry."

The response was for her to screw her face up and begin screaming again.

"For goodness sake this is ridiculous!" his aunt snapped, then turned in her own seat and said loudly, "Lily – you listen to me a minute my girl – that sister of yours and that Tommy might have the patience for this, but the rest of us don't so if another sound comes out of you that isn't an apology I'm going to give you a good hard smack and put you to bed without the rest of your dinner never mind any cake!"

"Thank god!" Ada said, raising her eyes to the heavens as if genuinely grateful for some kind of divine intervention.

The child's mouth fell open and fresh tears came to her eyes, but she turned to face the corner and the sounds that came from her were the normal cries of a child in place of the screams they'd been listening to.

"Polly-" Rosie started to say but his aunt held her hand up.

"No, Rosie, children are children – you can't reason with them like they're adults, all this," she gestured at the child in the corner, "Is doing is pulling this all out and upsetting her and asking her to decide when enough is enough – and that's not fair. She's not old enough to know how or when to make that decision. She's the child. You need to take control of the situation. And you," she turned her eyes on him, "You should know better! Did your mother carry on and put you in a corner for anything other than to wait your turn to get your arse lit up? I don't bloody think so! And I don't remember any babies screaming at anyone in this bloody house before this very evening, so I dare say the previous, time-honoured approach was far more effective!"

He had the very distinct impression she was ready to give him a good smack, but as he listened to the child in the corner be so entirely consumed with her own cries that she clearly hadn't heard a word of what had just been said, he didn't really feel he could argue that Pol was wrong. His heart was breaking listening to her and if he'd just given her a smack in the first place he could have had her in his arms now and been cuddling her again as he wanted to be doing.

The hard won 'I'm sorry's came eventually when Lily ran to her sister to cry into her lap and collect her forgiveness, which was freely given along with many cuddles and kisses and Tommy fought to keep himself on his own chair rather than go over and interrupt them to slot his own desire to cuddle the child in amongst their moment.

His heart lightened when Rosie stood up, bouncing Lily up on her hip and crossed behind Finn to him saying, "Are you going to apologise to Tommy too? You weren't very nice to him."

He was glad to gather the child up in his arms and hold her in the way he'd wanted to what seemed hours before, even if it had been all of fifteen minutes, pressing kisses all across her head.

"You nearly called me Lily Shelby," she pointed out once he had settled her and confirmed that she was indeed his best girl again.

"I did my little love, I'm sorry, I forget you're a Jackson and not a Shelby at times," he said, hoping he hadn't upset her freshly with that mistake in the middle of her other upsets.

Her mouth drooped a little for reasons he couldn't quite fathom.

"Yeah well a Shelby wouldn't have got away with all that screaming," Ada said, "Would they Finn?"

"Nope," Finn replied with a snort, digging into his cake.

"You said Finn was my big brother though," she reminded Tommy

"He is your brother," he told her, "You just have a different last name – you've got your sister's last name."

She frowned, and Rosie crouched beside his chair to tap her sister's nose, laughing and saying, "No need to look quite so disappointed Lily. You can change it when you're older if you dislike it so much."

Polly reached out for a hold of Lily and the girl bit her lip as he passed her to his aunt. Rosie straightened and he could see tension in her hand as she stood beside his chair, not returning to her own. He wanted to pat the tension away but he was holding firm to his intention of not blurring the boundaries.

"Are you a good girl now?" his aunt asked Lily.

"Yes Aunt Polly," she replied nervously.

"That's what I like to hear."

"Aunt Polly…" she began and trailed off.

"Yes Lily?"

"Would you really smack me?"

"Yes Lily I would," his aunt told her – not unkindly but firmly, "Naughty children are naughty children in my book and I don't care what their surname is. You'll get treated the same as Ada and Finn as far as I'm concerned. Same as any kid that I look after."

He could see Rosie frowning at that, but when the child went on to tell his aunt that she was very sorry and then sat in her lap until Polly made her excuses and left for the night, he couldn't really see that she hadn't been entirely right. And he was well aware it was his aunt's words that had succeeded in getting her to calm down where theirs had failed.

Rosie obviously didn't approve, she had taken quite a while to sit back down herself after Lily had settled in Polly's lap, but the child had clearly either been smacked at school herself or had seen enough of other children catching it that the idea alone was a deterrent.

The thing was the idea might work. If he used those words they might work - to begin with. But, at some point, they'd have to transition from the idea – from words - to actions – and he just didn't know if he had the strength for it.

The last proper spanking he'd given Ada – when he'd put her over the kitchen table and ended up taking the brush to her – true, he had taken a grim satisfaction in it at first as he worked out some of the frustrations that she had caused in him on her backside but, once he had gotten past that, he'd hated it. But he knew it had been partly his own fault for letting her wildness run unchecked for so long before that.


	16. Chapter 16

In the time he had spent with Rosie in the house, both of them relaxed and as unreserved as either of them knew how to be, and watching her be soft with her sister, Tommy had forgotten how much command she held outside of the house – how imposing and even intimidating she could be. He imagined she had perhaps forgotten his reputation a little too, though she had never fully seen him in action. He wondered if it was better that way.

He was reminded though - as he spent that Saturday stuck in his kitchen for the afternoon. Stuck by his own choice - determined to ensure no one was going anywhere near the shop. He had intended to focus on work, but he found himself listening to the chatter that drifted through from Ada's party in the front room.

Ada had minded him and not invited her whole class – but the twelve teenagers gathered were more than enough by his standards. As well as his sister and Rosie (whom Evans had agreed to giving the day off to without any fight, it was a nice side line of the Peaky Blinders protecting the shop that they also got to stock their wares in it and demand the time of staff members) there were five other girls from their class and five boys – only four of whom had been invited from what he could discern from their chat (apparently Rosie was right and Wrighty – and Tommy still wasn't sure which voice belonged to Wrighty – went wherever Becker went, whether he was invited or not.) The chairs had been carried through from the kitchen, the small table that usually sat in the corner had been pushed to the middle of the room and Ada was over the moon with the sponge caked iced neatly with her name on it that had been placed on it.

It was funny - both in the sense of being strange as well as amusing - to him, the way that Rosie sat almost in complete silence the majority of the time – and yet even without seeing her he knew she held the most presence in the room. He longed to go through and witness her hold her court with his own eyes because his brain could barely reconcile the girl in the room next door – whose opinion everyone seemed to request on everything and be denied on most things – with the woman who had made him a steak pie, smacked him with a towel and got him drying her dishes.

The girls Ada was friendly with seemed nervous to speak to her – they asked her questions in a tone he often heard people address him in. A mix of titillation and fascination and a slight fear on the edge of it all. He realised quickly that she didn't answer most questions though – at least not verbally. And sometimes people's questions died on their lips when they began asking, which he presumed meant she had moved those fire orbs to regard them and their tongues had been burned in the process.

The boys asked her who she'd bet on in various fights between people he presumed they were in school with – and he noticed no matter what anyone else had said, as soon as her judgement was passed everyone accepted it as gospel.

He had begun to think of her as impressive in so many ways he hadn't before – impressive with her sister, impressive in her care taking, impressive in her cooking, impressive in her diplomacy with his family. But he'd forgotten just how bloody impressive she was when it came to dealing with people, impressive with her lack of diplomacy in a way. He'd known it of course, from the way he'd heard her handle customers in the shop when she needed to, but he'd become so used to her softer side that the memories had become hazier than he'd realised.

She appeared through in the kitchen at one point without any warning, giving no one any explanation as to why she was up and leaving – but she slammed the door behind her when she did and rolled her eyes at the room before realising he was in it.

He raised an eyebrow at her, "Having fun?"

She crossed her arms, leaning against the wall opposite him, answering his question with another, "Why are you in here on your own on a Saturday anyway?"

"Strangers in the house – did you think I wouldn't be here?"

"I figured you were in the shop."

"I've locked the shop over, not worth the risk of anyone seeing or hearing what they shouldn't – customers know to use the shop door anyway."

She nodded, uncrossed her arms and stuck her hands in her pockets. She was wearing the new trousers Polly had picked out for her – and unlike her old trousers they were cut for a woman. He had thought the old trousers indecent, far too big at her waist and too tight across other areas for what had to be both his and her comfort, but now he wasn't entirely sure the new ones weren't bloody worse. They were tailored in around her waist, which seemed only to enhance the curve of her general body more – even if the material wasn't technically as tight, there was still more than enough on show. And the top she had on – it was tucked into the trousers and he realised he'd never really noticed her chest before and now he didn't know how he'd missed it. Maybe because she crossed her arms over it so much. Or maybe because the dresses she wore for school and church didn't really make much of her shape. He wished she was the kind of girl who wore dresses all the time – shapeless sack dresses preferably.

"I don't know how Ada stands all that chatter all the bloody time. And all the questions," she offered suddenly.

He shrugged, "The less you agree to tell people the more they want to know."

"They all want to know what the hell I'm doing here is what they all want to know – not that they'd come out and just ask. Not that it would be any of their fucking business if they did anyway."

"What do you mean they want to know why you're here – don't they know you live here?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Why would they know that?"

He had just presumed people would know because they'd have seen her and Lily go in and out of the house – and people talked. Or… most people talked.

"You didn't mention to anyone you'd moved?"

"I didn't mention to anyone where I lived before, why would I mention I moved?" she said with a frown.

He stilled his laugh in his throat, "You should just start telling them all everything. They'd lose interest."

"That what you do to keep people from asking questions?" she asked, an eyebrow raised pointedly.

"Me? Oh no, I just cut out their tongues," he replied with a relaxed shrug, "Seems effective so far."

"Sounds it, if you fancy giving me any lessons on that there are five girls in there I could practise on?"

"Lessons on cutting out tongues eh?"

"Yeah – you show me how to make people blind and dumb, I'll show you how to cook."

"I thought you'd forgotten about that."

"I don't forget anything Thomas," she replied with a glint in her eye.

He shook his head, "Blinderin' isn't a good career for a girl."

"Says who?"

"Me."

"What's your basis?"

"How'd you mean?"

"Have you ever tried letting a girl do it?"

"No."

"Then you've no bloody leg to stand on Thomas Shelby."

"I've got two legs just fine thanks Rosalie Jackson."

"You know what I'm saying. And don't call me that."

"I've noticed those boys all call you Jackson."

"Yeah, so?"

"Just saying I've noticed."

"Good for you – you keep noticing," she said sarcastically.

"Oh, I will, I notice everything," he replied, flicking his brows at her, "Should I start calling you Jackson?"

She snorted, "You can call me what you like Thomas."

There was an edge to her voice and he didn't quite believe her.

"I think I'll stick to Rosie."

"Aye, good."

"Why good?"

She shrugged and looked over out the window, avoiding him, "Just helps keep it all separate, y'know?"

He nodded. He did know.

"I better go back in, I've probably taken the piss on how long it can take someone to go for a piss."

"You didn't really come in here for anything?"

"I came in for five minutes peace and quiet – then you had to go ahead and be here," she said, rolling her eyes.

"My apologies Lady Rosalie of the Jacksons of Birmingham – heaven forbid a man be in his own kitchen of a day," he said, inclining his head in what he imagined was a subservient fashion.

"When that man, by his own admission, doesn't eat, I don't expect to find him in his kitchen of any day."

"He didn't used to eat," Tommy snorted, "But then this girl came along and started cooking and things changed a bit. Eats every Tuesday now. Getting' fat."

He patted his practically concave stomach and she shook her head and snorted, turning and disappearing back to the front room.

"Who were you talkin' to?" one of the boys asked as soon as the door closed behind her.

"Tommy," she replied, her voice suddenly blank again. It was really quite impressive how quickly she could switch it.

"Tommy Shelby?"

"It is his house."

"Jesus!"

"No, not quite," she replied sarcastically, and Tommy snorted to himself.

"What was he sayin'? And why's he speakin' to you? Ada how come your brother's speakin' to her?"

"If you're so interested go in and speak to him yourself," she snapped before Ada could say anything, shutting down the line of conversation.

Tommy turned it over in his mind just how little she did let anyone know about her. Again, he'd almost forgotten how intensely private she was. He remembered the time between them meeting and getting to know one another as a series of conversations and he knew he had spent time pulling more than one-word answers from her than anyone else had ever made him spend. But now he was so used to listening to her – to reading her face even when she wasn't speaking…

The party continued on with Ada and the girls awkwardly trying to assess which of the girls in their class the boys thought the most interesting – throughout all of which Rosie didn't utter a single word, and her silence continued even when it switched around and the girls started discussing the boys. They asked her about specific boys but he didn't hear anything, so she must have either refused to answer or answered with a look or a movement rather than words. It was frustrating, being on the other side of the door. And it was frustrating that, whilst he would stick to his word and distance himself from her until she was older, he couldn't seem to make his instincts want to distance themselves. He cared about what she thought about boys in her class, like he was some fifteen-year-old himself who wanted to know how he'd measure up against her undisclosed tastes.

He heard the front door open and John's voice came, "Rosie girl, that cake one of yours?"

She must have nodded because he said, "Aye, make sure you save me a piece eh?" then the door opened, and he appeared in the kitchen, tried to get into the shop, rattling the door handles when he realised they were locked, as if that would magically open them.

Tommy crossed to open them, let his brother in saying "Use the fucking shop door, I don't want this one open when there's strangers in," and pulled them over and locked them again behind him, rolling his eyes at John's return of "Aye, bunch of kids – big threat Tommy!"

John would always underestimate a situation and run in headfirst.

"Did you bake a cake?" one of the male voices from the next room was asking, laughing as he did.

"Aye, what of it?"

The laughter continued, "Jackson mate – since when can you bake?"

"Since when can I not bake?"

"Will you do me summat for my birthday Jackson?" came another male voice, clearly making fun of her.

Her own voice went very sing song for a moment, "Do you something Walker? For your birthday? Aye I'll do you something," her voice hardened, "I'll knock all the fucking teeth out your mouth, that's what I'll fucking do for you – would that suit you?"

Tommy grinned and shook his head, his heart swelling a little with pride at the little wench. The voices were quick to change their tune and become deferential to her again. She had them in hand, he'd give her it.

It was a while later, when the cake had been cut, some of the guests had drifted off home to their dinner and it was dark outside that the kitchen door opened, and a boy crossed through it, presumably headed out the back to the outhouse. Tommy stood so silently by the fire the boy didn't notice him. He had given up listening, it was too frustrating when she said so little – and he had dedicated the time to turning his own thoughts over instead. This wasn't an easy time of year to get new money in a betting shop – coming up to Christmas, when people would spend on their families, then January when they had nothing left to spend. This was the time of year when the acquiring of certain in-demand items became more useful than owning the shop. He was so engrossed in his thoughts that the boy didn't really make an impact on him.

His attention was drawn properly though when the door opened again, and she came following through, glancing at Tommy but not stopping, following the boy outside. In her haste she wasn't too careful with the door and it didn't close properly behind her. He could feel the biting December air coming in, even as he stood by the fire, but with air came sound.

"Becker – what the fuck are you playing at?" she demanded, her voice harsh.

Tommy's ears pricked up. So, this was Becker. And she was following him outside, seemingly displeased. All of a sudden, the boy was of much more interest.

"What d'you mean Jackson?"

"You know fine well what I mean."

"Mate, some of are interested in not wanking off alone."

"Mate, some of us don't want to know about your wanking habits," she replied, sounding genuinely disgusted. Tommy hoped she truly wasn't interested in the boy's habits – preferably his habits of any kind.

"Why you askin' then?"

"What the fuck is wrong with you that you're even considering it? Why are you still here?"

"Why are you still here? Go fuckin' home if you don't like it."

"Aye, I'll go fucking home and let you make a big fucking mess, sure thing! Mate – Wrighty is in that front room with you – what the fuck is wrong with you?"

"Wrighty said if I have a go and she's up for it then I should feel free."

"Aye so he did!"

"He did!"

"I don't fucking believe you – will I go get him and ask him?"

"Don't you fuckin' dare."

"Thought not."

The boy sighed, irritated, "What's your fuckin' problem anyway Jackson?"

"My fucking problem? My fucking problem is that I don't understand why you'd take a punt on someone your pal has had their heart broken by."

"He wasn't heartbroken."

"Well he wasn't fucking celebrating."

"Mate she's made it clear she wants me, why are you fucking this up?"

"Cause I don't want stuck in the fucking middle when you two end up knocking each other's teeth out for nothing."

"It's not for fucking nothin' – it's Ada Shelby!"

"Aye, exactly – you know who her fucking brothers are, don't you?"

"I'm not scared of them," the Becker kid said – and Tommy considered going and standing in the doorway just to see the effect it would have. He thought it would give her a laugh if nothing else.

"Well you're more fucking stupid than you look – they're called Peaky Blinders for a reason, they'll take your fucking eyes if they think you're looking at their sister wrong."

It seemed excessive and Tommy certainly had no real intentions of taking anyone's eyes because of his sister's school girl antics. He might take Ada's ability to sit if he heard much more of this conversation – but he'd leave the boy's eyes alone.

"I wouldn't be lookin' at her wrong. There's no wrong way to look at Ada Shelby."

Tommy didn't care for the boy's tone, though he thought Ada would. That was the fucking problem, Ada had no judgement. Her and John might have been too far apart in age to be close growing up, but they were the most similar of the Shelby siblings – their traits were the same, they just manifested differently with their different interests.

"Well she's not even looking at you properly so why risk it?"

"What d'you mean Jackson?"

"You know fine well what I mean."

"You jealous Jackson?"

It was a question that had touched his own mind – and he didn't like it. There was a muffled sound and then the unmistakable sound of a punch being landed.

Tommy crossed to the door but relaxed behind it when he heard the boy saying, "I'm sorry, fuck's sake Jackson that was my nose, I'm sorry – right? Get off me! Let me up!"

"I'll let you up when I'm sure that knocked some sense into you," she retorted quickly.

"Mate what's the fuckin' deal? For real?"

"You're wasting your time, so don't waste it and fuck everything up for the rest of us, right?"

"How am I wasting my time?"

"Mate – she's not interested in you, she just wants the excitement of parading about holding your hand."

"She's gonna let me do more than hold her hand."

"She might but her brothers won't."

"Mate – Wrighty said she let him slide his hand-"

Tommy's brain roared.

"I don't want to fucking hear it Becker. You're going to cause a fucking upset and if you do I'm with Wrighty, and let's not fucking pretend that doesn't mean you won't lose. Ada Shelby doesn't give a fuck about any of you – she wants excitement and that's why she wanted Wrighty and was bored of him a week later. That's all she'll do with any of you and I'm not standing in the middle to pick up the fucking pieces when she's got you all fighting amongst yourselves. Fucking men – you're all so fucking predictable!"

"Jackson mate, when did you become such a cunt?"

There was another punch.

"Fuck's sake!"

"Aye well the first one obviously wasn't hard enough."

"I'm gonna fuckin' get you Jackson," the boy growled.

"I'd like to see you fucking try mate," she replied in that blithe tone of hers.

She might not be particularly worried, but Tommy had heard enough, he swung open the back door and stood there, his hands folded behind his back, letting himself be silhouetted against the light, looking up. He didn't have his hat on, but he figured the look was still near enough as intimidating without it.

Becker was lying on the ground wiping blood away from his nose and froze when he saw Tommy. She was on top of him, one knee in his stomach. Tommy didn't care for the sight in the slightest.

"I imagine getting a broken nose from a woman hurts just as much as getting one from a man. Just a bit more shameful," he said calmly to the boy.

"Tommy," she began – but he turned his ice glare on her and motioned her up and off with his eyes. She stared back at him for a second, glanced at Becker underneath her who was watching them and back to Tommy, clearly deciding whether she would comply with his silent order or not, before she gave a sigh and stood up hissing, "You're fucking lucky Becker," under her breath.

Becker didn't look like he quite believed himself to be lucky in the moment.

"Let me make this quite clear _mate_ ," Tommy said, keeping his tone cold and calm, his eyes on the boy, "You lay a hand on her," he nodded his head at Rosie, "You lay a hand on my sister – friendly or otherwise - I'll take your fucking hands. And I don't see how a boy with no trade cause he's got no hands will get far in the world."

Becker made sounds, like he was trying and failing to find words.

"I think maybe it's time you left," she told him, the anger from her own voice gone – replaced by an eerie icy calm, not unlike Tommy's own.

The boy didn't need to be told twice, he scrambled up and ran down the back of the houses, pulling himself over the wall at the end.

"So," Tommy said, appraising her with his eyes and keeping his hand clasped in their rigid position, his face still sullen, "Ada's not doing any more or any less than anyone else?"

"She's not Tommy," she said, mildly defensively, "In fact – I take that back. In a lot of ways, she's actually doing less."

"Cause letting Wrighty," he turned the boy's name over on his tongue and wondered which one he was of the ones still gathered in the front room, "Slide his hand wherever sounds like less."

"Wrighty is full of shit – they all are."

"Is that right?"

"Yeah Tommy, it is," her voice was quite even now, determined.

He crossed to stand over her, but she tilted her head back and met his glare without flinching. More than he could say for most men.

"Get that hand run under that pump," he said gruffly, unclasping his own hands and reaching for her hand and turning it over in his, unsure if he believed her or not.

He hadn't touched her in a skin to skin way without it being to pass Lily between them in so long that it felt suffocatingly intimate now, so he dropped her hand and went to the pump, started up the water, motioning his eyes to tell her to stick her hand under it.

"Two nice punches it sounded like" he commented once she did, as she used her other hand to wipe the blood away.

"Yeah well," she said, shrugging it off. One day he was going to make her take some praise.

"Crazy that they come from the same hands that carry that sister of yours about and bake the best cakes in Birmingham."

"Oh, I'm a multi-faceted woman Mr Shelby."

"Oh, I don't doubt it Miss Jackson."

That undefinable thing hung between them then and he regretted the words coming out his mouth – this was what he had specifically promised not to do. He was going to let her be.

"I'm glad at least one of you can take care of yourselves," he said, fishing out a new cigarette and lighting it, switching his tone.

"Tommy – don't tell Ada about that will you?" she said, wiping her hand down on her trousers, "He'll be shit scared since you came out, he won't go near her again and there'll be no fights; Ada'll move on in a few weeks and pick someone else."

She adapted to the tone change as if she hadn't even noticed it. He really had forgotten just how good she was. If there ever was a girl he'd trust to be around when he did do the blindering part of being a Peaky Blinder, it was her. Yet at the same time, he wanted her further from it than he ever wanted anyone else – except maybe Lily.

Tommy exhaled smoke into the evening air, "Is that why you did that? To avoid a fight?"

"Keeping the ranks in line – thought you would understand that better than anyone Tommy?"

He nodded, smirking, "Right then Captain Jackson," he said, gesturing at her with his cigarette, "I'm not happy about it because I'd like to smack my sister into next week – but if you promise she's not making a fucking fool of herself I will leave it. This once. For you. And cause it's her birthday."

"I didn't say she wasn't making a fool of herself," Rosie said with a raised eyebrow, "Just that she's no worse than the rest of them and she's a lot less foolish than the worst of them."

It didn't entirely make him feel better, but he thought Rosie at least had Ada's reputation and good intentions at heart when he heard her say to her later, after the last of the guests had left, "Look – you know who you like – so stop trying to make him jealous with other people and just tell him will you? Before there's a fight?"

"Quite like the idea of boys fighting over me," Ada replied with a giggle.

"It'll be your brothers fighting amongst it if you don't watch it, and then no one'll go near you for fear."

The giggling ceased abruptly, "Trust me Rosie, you've got no fucking idea," Ada sighed.

He heard the resignation in her voice and didn't quite know how he felt about it. If she'd pick a decent boy, he'd let her be so long as he didn't think hands were sliding where they shouldn't be.

He'd always thought Ada was a bit of a hopeless romantic in her own way, but he thought now that Rosie probably had the jist of it more than he did – Ada wasn't so much romantic as she was looking for romance. She wanted a romance from a picture show though, not a real one. She wanted drama and excitement. And that was why he was completely sure that she would be incapable of picking a decent boy.


	17. Chapter 17

He kept his word to Rosie and kept his tongue still, not letting Ada know he'd said anything to Becker and letting Rosie explain away the boy's abrupt departure of her own accord, but it didn't sit entirely right within him.

He didn't want to admit it, but if it hadn't been a Saturday he might have gone against her and said something – but their Saturdays in the front room with Lily were turning into the high point of his week. Although that evening Ada even sat in with them the entire night, chattering away (they'd had their baths the night before because Ada felt freshly washed hair was essential to her 'grown up party') which he wasn't so keen on – he found he much preferred when his sister stayed out most of the night and only appeared in when she was going for a bath in the kitchen. Ada commanded the conversation and Rosie's attention when she stayed in - and though Rosie sat on the floor, half leaning against his legs, he preferred when she sat next to him.

His other reason for agreeing to keep his peace was that the tension between the redhead and his aunt that hadn't shifted since Tuesday evening and their words had been tight all week. She had thanked Polly for taking Lily during Ada's party - but that evening as they'd sat in the front room he'd noticed she was overly enquiring with her sister about how her day had been, clearly worried something would have happened.

Still, Lily did seem to have had a perfectly lovely time – Polly had taken her to the park and then they'd gone to the tearooms, which was something he could never quite picture his aunt doing even though he knew she'd taken Ada a few times - and when Lily appeared downstairs the next morning wearing her usual church dress, the tears of the Christmas dress seemed to be long forgotten, much to his relief.

Rosie had outdone herself with a second cake for the family tea, which was set up in the kitchen and they all squeezed in, lining the walls to sing and give Ada her presents – the main of which was a gramophone and some records, along with a coat that she adored that Tommy thought was potentially the most ridiculous thing he'd ever seen. It was light beige with a fur collar and floral embroidery – likely to get filthy no matter how careful she was with it (which he knew she wouldn't be) and far too likely to attract attention in a city of dark, sensible coats for his liking. Polly had done most of the shopping and he, Arthur, John and Finn had signed their names to whatever she had told them to, so he hadn't actually seen the coat prior to it being lifted from layers of tissue paper – though the words she and Polly exchanged over it told him it was clearly something she'd pointed out herself.

"Looks like something a film star would wear," was John's amused assessment of it, which pleased their sister greatly.

After the excitement of the coat Ada picked up a smaller parcel next. He thought it might have been shoes – it looked about the right size for a shoebox - and he hoped Polly had had the sense not to make Ada the only girl in Birmingham with four-inch heels to go with her ridiculous coat. His sister's eyes flicked to Rosie's when she read the card, her face slightly confused. He watched as the other girl gave her a confused look in return and Ada moved her eyes back to the paper and tore it open, much more slowly that she had dived into any of her other gifts.

"The suspense is killing me," his Uncle Charlie remarked, to snorts from his brothers.

"Good things are worth the wait Charlie," Jeremiah remarked with a grin.

Jeremiah wasn't technically family but he had been part of the Small Heath Rifles and had been by their side in the war, so he was as good as, as far as the Shelby's were concerned. He didn't consider himself a Peaky Blinder as such – he had found God when Thomas had lost him, and Jeremiah and God went dancing barefoot in the streets most days. The man wouldn't touch a weapon. His son Isaiah had come along – he was about ages with Finn and the two were close; Tommy had a feeling Isaiah would be swearing in as a Blinder when the time came.

Ada took the paper down and stared at the front of the box that lay underneath the it – from his position over by the sink he couldn't see what it was and was vaguely annoyed when his sister didn't announce what it was, even though he shouldn't by all rights have cared. His sister's eyes found Rosie's again and the two stared at each other, whilst everyone else smoked and talked amongst themselves or, like him, watched the interaction in fascination.

Rosie spoke first, her face slightly uncomfortable as she waved her hand and said, "The woman in the shop said it's good if your hair doesn't take a curl – you… I don't really know, there's instructions in the box… you heat it on the fire then wrap the hair around it – I don't know!" By the time she had finished talking both her hands were waving around as if she were batting flies out the air in front of her.

"Thanks," Ada said after a long pause.

"Yeah – well – it's from Lily too, isn't it Lily?" Rosie said, reaching down to bring child who stood at her side up onto her hip, suddenly very interested in her sister and not in looking at Ada, or anyone else in the room, "Look Lily, I think Ada might like it."

"That's not from me!" Lily exclaimed, almost slightly crossly, twisting around to look from her sister to the table, "That's from Rosie, I picked the sweets!" She pointed at another smaller bag.

"Aye well you may as well open that one next Ada since you know what it is now!" Rosie said, her voice overly cheerful.

"You did the cake – two cakes – I didn't expect you to get me anythin'," Ada said, her voice a bit stilted.

"Yeah well… More of a present for me really, you look like a sea creature with all those rags in your hair – gives me a fright every time I have to sit and look at you of an evening," Rosie replied, scuffing her shoe and looking at the ceiling this time.

There was a pause again, which didn't seem anyone else's right to break, before Polly – who in all her life as far as he could tell had never cared about what was anyone else's right – slammed her hand on the table and shouted, "Oh for goodness sake!"

He half thought his aunt might be about to tell the two of them she'd smack them and send them to their beds judging by her tone.

"I swear to god! If I hadn't attended the births of most of the people in this room I'd swear you came out the Shelby womb!" his aunt shrieked, stabbing her finger across the room at the redhead, who had stood in the corner in front of the big cupboard and seemed to be regretting her boxed in choice, "You're as pig headed and stubborn as the worst of them! You did a nice thing! Just admit you did a nice, thoughtful thing! Lily – your sister's as bad as our Tommy – neither of them will take any criticism or compliment on what they do but they've both got good bloody hearts and neither of them wants to admit it! I don't know what-" she punctuated her thoughts by slamming her hands down on the table again and turning to fix him with a glare, though he wasn't entirely sure how he'd suddenly come under fire too, "- is so wrong with the people in this family! Sometimes we do nice things! Can't we ever just admit sometimes we do nice things?"

His aunt finished her tirade by scrabbling in her pocket, pulling out a cigarette and stuffing it in her mouth, shaking her head as she faffed with striking a match to light it.

Looks were exchanged around the room, most of them not sure how to follow any of what had just happened.

"Well," Arthur spoke up, his eyes on Rosie, grinning, "First ya go an' make Tommy laugh an' now ya've gone an' broken Aunt Pol. You can keep away from me, I like myself as I am."

"Ah, she can do what she likes with me as long as she keeps making those cakes," John said in response.

"Them cakes are enchanted too I'd bet," Arthur said, "Ya sure you're not gypsy? Even half? Got a bit of magic running through ya?"

Tommy frowned over at his brother, but Rosie seemed to take the comment in the good spirit it was offered in.

"I mean sometimes when he's being a grumpy git," she said, nodding her head in his direction, "I think about putting a good dose of rat poison in – but most of the time the cakes are just normal stuff. Maybe Lily's stirring is magic though, I don't know."

She smiled and pressed her lips to the forehead to Lily's forehead, doing that thing again where she didn't want to look into a room and see everyone's eyes on her.

"It'll never cease to amaze me," Polly said, taking her cigarette from her mouth for a second, "How soft you lot can be with a bairn but how you can't even think about admitting you did a nice thing!"

His aunt jammed her cigarette back in as soon as she was done speaking, her brows knitted in annoyance.

Rosie looked awkward.

"I'm sure Lily's stirring is magic," he said to the room, "But I have never been grumpy in my life."

The room broke with a chorus of disagreement.

She grinned over at him, "Ah you shouldn't tell lies on a Sunday Thomas – it's extra bad for the soul!"

"Lily – do you think I'd do such a thing as tell lies?" he asked, crossing over to stand in front of her – hoping offering himself as a shield between her and the rest of the room would let her breathe for a second.

The child giggled and shook her head.

"Quite right too, that's why you're my best girl," he said, holding out his arms and smiling when Rosie acquiesced to pass her over to him, though she tutted and rolled her eyes at him as he professed the innocence of his tongue.

He turned, holding the child in his arms and told Lily to pick what Ada should open next, pushing the focus of the room back to the task at hand. Once it was under way he took a step to the side and slid his free arm around her waist to give it a squeeze. She rested her head on him, just for second before she straightened and stepped forward, out of his reach.

He got the impression he wasn't the only one who had decided to put some distance between them, for whatever reason. His heart panged, just a little.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't a note for this chapter so much as just a general note for this story, following a comment I received on the previous chapter. 
> 
> This story will be *long*. I don't know how long but long. I started posting it on fanfiction.net before posting here and over there I am 69 chapters and nearly 400,000 words into it and the action is currently on the action of S1E3, which is less than half way through season 1 - essentially the plan is a season 1 retelling that will end shortly after S1E6. 
> 
> Because of the length of this story, there will be character arcs and character development, but they're not going to happen within 16 chapters. I feel like this point is honestly still setting up and blending the families - letting people find and adjust to their new roles.
> 
> I've marked the description as slow burn, but as well as the romance being slow - the plot is slow, the character developments are slow. My writing is never fast paced, but this piece has turned into an absolute epic. It's not just Tommy and Rosie that I'm writing and developing, its the Tommy and Rosie romance, it's Tommy developing the business, it's Tommy as a brother, it's Tommy as a father etc etc & all the characters that fit into one or more of those slots as well. Rosie & Ada finding their relationship. Katie & Lily finding theirs. The entire thing has turned into an epic family saga. I hope, then, that it's not boring to read because there is so much going on - but if this was a story about two characters or that concentrated on developing one aspect of a character it would move much faster than it does. But it's not. 
> 
> I am trying also to write the existing characters in a way that is true to canon. The comment in question seemed to have an issue with Tommy being a hypocrite. In canon, Tommy is a hypocrite. Tommy expects to run the family and not be questioned on any of his decisions whilst he goes out and is answerable to no one. That's who he is. He sets one rule for everyone else, gets raging if they don't follow but he can go and do exactly as pleases him at any time. 
> 
> Canonically we know Tommy gets a bit soft when he's in love - by Greta's bed every day for 3 months holding her hand, forgiving Grace for everything she did in season 1 (can you imagine for example if John turned round & married a woman who was working undercover to betray them in the last season - like let's not pretend that theoretical woman would even have been allowed to live, never mind that John would be allowed to marry her!) He's always shown as being a very tender lover... In addition to this he's always seen on screen as being a fairly affectionate father - though Lizzie does say Ruby is scared of him, it's never actually shown in the show. 
> 
> All that is to say that honestly I worry I sometimes verge on writing Tommy a little too softly in comparison to canon and spend a lot of time rewatching the moments of the show when he is with a woman or child in order to reassure myself that how he is with Rosie/Lily is rooted in canonical evidence.
> 
> Therefore, if my depiction of Tommy so far to you is that he's abusive or repulsive then all I can really say here is please don't continue reading, because whilst he's going to have moments of realising he's been wrong to do or think certain things, he's also not going to dramatically do a 180 at any point. I want Rosie to make him happy, to bring out that softer side in him, to make him content & chill him out a bit, yes. But he still will be who he is at the end of the day and that's not my creation - that's the character as written by Steven Knight and that's the character I'm working with. He's not the most objectively likeable, even at this point where we're pre season 1 and he's not as far gone as he is at some points within the canon of the 5 existing seasons.
> 
> My notes at the beginning of this story start ‘Firstly, as stated above, this story will contain spanking as a disciplinary method' and end ‘Fourthly, this is a Peaky Blinders fic so general warning for mental health issues, PTSD, mental abuse, physical abuse and light substance abuse. I will try to TW at the top of chapters that specifically deal with these issues when they come up, but please do be aware this is very much set within the canon of the show.’
> 
> I wholeheartedly believe I have trigger warning-ed this story appropriately. However, if you disagree please do let me know - I completely respect why trigger warnings exist & why they're necessary & if I've overlooked something I want to know because I don't want anyone stumbling into something that triggers trauma for them. To me, what's happened so far is spanking as far as TWs go. I am 100% open to any feedback for more specific trigger warnings that may be required. 
> 
> Other than that, thank you for reading and for the kudos - it's very much appreciated!


	18. Chapter 18

Later, when the cake had been cut and consumed, they had split off so that the adults made themselves comfortable with whisky and cigarettes and conversation in the front room, whilst the kids stayed in the kitchen.

Jeremiah had left to preach for the afternoon, but Isaiah had stayed behind and he, Finn and George had been running in and out the back door quickly enough that Polly had complained they were making her head spin and suggested they move and let the children play. John had only brought George and Katie – leaving his younger two with a neighbour – and Lily had sat in the kitchen with Katie rather than come through.

Tommy was equally pleased to see her socialising with other children and saddened that the appeal of Katie, whom she hadn't met before, had won out over the appeal of sitting with him in the front room. He handled the fact he often lost to her sister with grace - that was natural after all, and there was something between that felt more like a partnership when it came to Lily, though Rosie was the lead - but he wasn't so accustomed to being dumped for other children.

Polly had caught his face and snorted at him, shoving him through with a firm hand on his arm, saying "You let her be with people her own size for once Thomas."

Rosie had heard her and snorted herself – and they had exchanged a smirk at his expense and whatever tension hadn't already thawed between them by that point had gone. He decided he didn't mind the cost really but gave them both an icy glare for good measure before engaging his uncle in discussions about things he had stored in his yard and ignoring them completely to make his seeming displeasure at being laughed at known.

It transpired as a result that the Shelby men and Charlie stood about nearer the kitchen door whilst Ada, Polly and Rosie took the seats nearer the front door and Tommy's eyes drifted over a few times, occasionally meeting hers. 

Arthur made his excuses, heading to the Garrison not too long after but John stuck around, drinking whisky and moaning loudly about Christmas with four children, hoping Polly would hear him and offer to do his shopping. Polly feigned stone deafness - causing clear amusement on Rosie's face - and Tommy knew his aunt would continue with that approach until John outright asked her to lend him a hand. The thing was, John probably would ask her – Tommy would just hand her the money and tell her to sort it for Ada and Finn. And Rosie and Lily.

"George you stop that!" Katie's voice drifted through.

"How is it women get so bossy?" John rolled his eyes.

"Dad!" her voice came louder.

"Be there in a minute," John replied, tipping his glass back and not moving.

"Uncle Tommy! Aunt Polly!"

"What is it Katie love?" Polly shouted back.

"They're not stopping it!"

"If you boys are fighting take it outside, Polly'll go spare if you break anything!" Tommy shouted through, smirking at his uncle and brother as he did so.

"Aye and you stay out of their way if they're fighting Katie," Charlie added.

"Do you ever wonder at men questioning why women are bossy when they're apparently incapable of telling anyone to do anything without adding that a woman will 'go spare' if they don't?" Rosie said conversationally to Polly and Ada.

He was about to respond when Katie's voice seemed to take a more panicked turn.

"Uncle Tommy!"

He had already started pushing by John when Lily's cries reached them.

He was first in the room and he took in the scene and undid it in seconds – Lily was being held against the fire, close enough that he was half surprised her dress hadn't caught. She was struggling against them, but Finn and Isaiah had an arm each whilst George was pushing on her stomach and she wasn't strong enough to wriggle out of their grasp, though they let go as soon as they saw his face.

He grabbed her from them and carried her out the back, kicking the pump with his foot and crouching to hold the backs of her legs under the cold water.

Her skin was red and he knew she wasn't seriously hurt but he was shaking, more than she seemed to be.

He had had a talk with Finn after they had come back that Sunday. Finn had agreed to look out for Lily, to treat her as his little sister. And Tommy knew part of that was a small dose of exercising the power that came with being the older sibling. And he knew Finn was new to that and he had expected a bit of acting up with it. But surely to god the boy knew not to hold someone so close to a fire. Christ, where had he got that from? And what the fuck was George playing at? George was the oldest of four, it wasn't new to him.

Rosie arrived at his side but she let him keep holding Lily whilst she rubbed her back and questioned him with her eyes about what had happened.

"I don't bloody know," he told her, shaking his head, "But I'm going to get back in there a minute and find out."

He took Lily out from under the running water and held his hand against her legs, trying to assess whether the heat was out of them or not.

"Lily love," he murmured as soothingly as he could, "I need you to go to your sister a minute while I sort this out, okay?"

She continued to sob – whether from pain or panic or generally being overwhelmed he didn't know - but she unhooked her arms from around him and went to Rosie with no fussing.

He stood up and headed in, Rosie following suit behind him, gently shushing her sister.

He paused just inside the door, taking in the scene.

He gathered Katie had more or less filled the adults in already because Polly and Charlie were looking to him, whilst John was rubbing his head and looking like he'd rather be anywhere else. Ada had stayed back, hanging behind the door, seeming like she wasn't sure what to think or do in this scenario.

He turned an icy glare on his brother, nephew and Isaiah.

"Talk," he commanded, letting his eyes linger over each of them in turn.

He saw them trembling and none of them dared be the one to speak first.

He waited for a bit, then nodded and spoke slowly, "Real big men eh? You can hold a baby to a fire, but you can't find the balls to speak about it. What the hell is wrong with you?"

"We were playing at being Peaky boys," George eventually offered.

Tommy wanted to shoot his eyes over to John and ask him why the hell his son thought being a Peaky Blinder was to do with holding babies to fires, but he kept his gaze on the kids.

"Playing at being Peaky boys," he repeated, keeping his voice calm, quiet and slow, "Well, let me outline for you where you went wrong. First – we protect family, above everything else. If we have a family issue we take a family vote, we don't take it upon ourselves to dispense justice as one stupid set of kids see fit!" He stopped to breathe and ensure he still had control of himself, his eyes drilling in to each of them again before continuing, "Second – if we have an issue we decide to sort out, we wait till we're matched in size. We don't pick on little, easy targets. Third – apart from the fact you picked an easy target, it took three of you to manage it. Three of you against a baby? You're all fucking pathetic, and the furthest thing from being ready to be Peaky boys."

He crossed the room slowly, his eyes on Finn and the boy shrank back a little as Tommy made a beeline for him. He grabbed his brother's chin in his hand and forced his head up, waiting for Finn's eyes to meet his.

"We had a man to man talk Finn. You've let me down. What were you thinking?" he lost control and roared the last word and his brother winced, but he made no effort to calm himself as he shouted, "You're supposed to take care of her!"

Despite the boy's assertion at dinner that Lily cried all the time, tears were definitely not far off his own eyes.

"But Tommy she's not blood," the boy whispered.

"She's not blood?" he repeated back, quietening his voice, widening his eyes and gripping Finn's chin harder, using all his self-control not to slap him across the mouth.

"George said so," Finn replied.

He couldn't decide then what he was more annoyed about – the statement itself, the fact it had come from George or the fact that Finn was in the position he was and decided to try and wriggle out of taking the responsibility for his own actions. The entire talk they'd had had been about Finn stepping up and being given more responsibility – and he had seemed keen at the time but now he didn't want to follow through. And not only that, but George was seven or eight – Tommy couldn't remember exactly – but either way he was a kid compared to Finn and Isaiah.

"And do you take your orders from George or from me?" he asked his brother, keeping his voice low.

"F-from y-you Tommy," his brother replied, the tears coming over.

"Let me say this once – and I won't repeat it again," he said, his eyes moving between the three of them, his hand still gripping Finn's chin, "As far as I'm concerned – she's blood. You got it? If I hear otherwise from anyone they'll find themselves wishing they didn't have a tongue to speak with."

"Tommy," Polly started to say, but he held up a hand without looking at her and she fell silent.

"Finn – get in that corner," Tommy said, releasing his hold on his brother and gesturing to the corner he'd put Lily in on Tuesday, "I'm too angry to deal with you right now."

He was – and it was the first time he could honestly say it had been the case.

He turned to Isaiah, deciding he'd deal with his nephew last.

"You've been treated the same as Finn when you've been here Isaiah – so it's up to you – you and me can go find your dad and tell him what happened and he can deal with it or I can deal with it here and then you and me can go find your dad and tell him what happened and explain that it's been dealt with. Your choice."

"Me dad'll kill me," the boy replied, looking at his feet.

"I'll make you wish you were dead," Tommy told him – ensuring the boy would be under no illusions to the contrary – and knowing it would resonate with Finn too.

"I'd rather just get it done with Mr Shelby," Isaiah said, still not looking at him.

"Good man," Tommy nodded, hoping Finn might take the example, "Get on out the back, I'll be out when I'm done in here."

He turned his eyes last on his nephew, then moved them to John.

"I'll take him out back," John said with a sigh. Tommy considered for a minute, then nodded his agreement.

"Dad!" George protested.

"Mate – don't," John said, shaking his head, looking like he was practically in pain, "What Tommy said was right – bullyin' a little kid! An' I don't know where you got 'she's not blood' from but I don't like it."

"You said Lizzie couldn't come to family stuff because she's not a Shelby, cause she's not blood," the boy replied.

Tommy felt his anger dissipate slightly, knowing that at least John hadn't said anything stupid about Rosie or Lily in the house. But Lizzie had told him she just watched John's kids a few times a week for some extra cash – she hadn't let on, or she hadn't thought, that they'd be asking about her becoming involved in the family.

"That's different – Lizzie isn't blood, she's not family – Lily and Rosie live here. They're like Uncle Charlie and Aunt Polly, they're family but just not Shelby named," John told his son, clearly wanting to swallow his words as he said them.

John didn't do well in serious situations that weren't ones he could fight someone properly in.

"John, do you want me to do it?" Tommy asked his brother.

John swallowed and shook his head, "He's my son," came the reply.

"Right – Ada you take Katie out the front and play," he told their sister, and she reached out a hand to her niece and disappeared quickly, seeming glad to be given the blessing to. Her grown up party yesterday hadn't worked miracles, she wasn't ready to step into serious situations and be at ease either. Though judging by John's manner, he couldn't be sure she ever would be.

John motioned George out by nodding his head in the direction of the door and the condemned child dragged his feet about it but walked out. Tommy heard John mumble, "Fucks sake," before he took down the razor strop and went out after him.

"I don't know rightly that I'll be doing much good hanging about," his Uncle said.

"Fair enough," Tommy answered, staring at his brother in the corner rather than his uncle.

Charlie moved into his field of vision when he clapped a hand on Finn's shoulder and said, "Good luck son – you're gonna need it," before waving at Lily and saying, "Bye bye my little chicken, you remember and come by my yard sometime."

Lily had calmed down enough to sniffle out a "Bye Uncle Charlie," in response.

"Right Lily, I think we'll go sit in the front room," Rosie said, starting to cross to the door his uncle had just exited through when the sound of John laying down the first stroke on his son echoed through the back door.

"Is Tommy going to give Finn a smack?" Lily whispered loudly, her eyes on the boy in the corner.

"I think he might do, yes," Rosie told her sister.

"There's no might about it, Lily - Finn's going to be a very sorry little boy with a very sore backside who'll be eating his meals standing for a while," he said loudly, noticing his aunt nodding in grim satisfaction.

"Do you have to Tommy?" Lily asked him, and Rosie paused in the doorway with the child on her hip.

He met her eyes and tried to figure out what it was she wanted him to say or do.

"Yes Lily, he does," Polly answered on his behalf, "What Finn did was very bad - you could have been seriously hurt."

"But you could just take away his sweets!" Lily said.

"I could do what Lily?" he asked her, moving his gaze from Rosie to the sister.

"When I don't do what she tells me Rosie doesn't give me any sweets," Lily said, blushing and hugging into her sister – as though the mere imagining of her not doing what she was told was somehow embarrassing, as if she hadn't thrown a tantrum and been put in a corner in the very same room they were currently stood in earlier that week.

"Oh for god's sake," Finn said, probably thinking he was speaking to himself as he faced the wall, but loudly enough that the room heard. If he'd been able to see the boy's face Tommy was fairly sure Finn's eyes would be rolling. It stiffened whatever resolve Tommy had lost since Lily had spoken.

"Well Lily, that might be how your sister handles things but it's not how I handle things – you've seen Ada get plenty of smacks before now," he told her firmly, "And I think I'm quite fair with it Lily, I'm not unreasonable, but I don't think taking someone's sweets is an appropriate way to handle them holding their baby sister against a fire. In fact, I'd say that's someone who's crying out for a good hiding."

Lily frowned but didn't say anything else as Rosie carried her through to the front room, pulling the doors shut behind them.

His aunt spoke up, "Finn – you know you've earned a good hiding don't you?"

"Yes Aunt Polly," he mumbled to the corner.

"So why did you decide holding her to a fire was worth it?"

He shrugged.

"Don't shrug Finn – c'mere," Tommy said, sitting down at the table which was still littered with paper and presents and cake, his mind on Rosie.

The boy turned and crossed nearer to him without coming entirely in reach - evidently expecting Tommy to pull him over his knee. Tommy pointed to the spot in front of him and Finn shuffled the rest of the distance over, his face resigned.

"What's going on Finn? We had a talk about you being a big brother and I was trusting you to do that."

He shrugged again.

"Stop shrugging!" Tommy said, fighting to keep the exasperation out of his tone. Bloody discussions. He cursed the redhead mentally. Putting the bloody notion in his head to try and have more discussions. "If you want we can just go outside and get it done with rather than you getting a chance to explain?"

The boy nodded and took a step towards the door, but Tommy wasn't stupid – he knew something wasn't right and he grabbed Finn by the wrist and hauled him back to the spot he'd been on, raising his eyebrows at him.

"It's nothin' Tommy."

"It's obviously something."

"I just – I don't think I like being a big brother. You're always picking her up and carrying her around and she was crying and screaming on Tuesday night and you just put her in a corner! I just liked it better before Lily came," Finn rushed out suddenly.

Tommy kept his face blank while he processed that.

"What about Rosie?" his aunt asked.

Finn shrugged, "Rosie's fine."

His aunt nodded and gave him a look, which he wasn't entirely sure he understood.

Tommy wasn't sure if she was fine because Finn had admired her for so long at school or if she was fine because she didn't affect his place in the house. Despite being closest to Ada in age, Rosie had slotted in better amongst the elder Shelby's, probably because her home personality was so focussed on Lily, on being an older sister. Though based on what he'd heard yesterday, her outside personality would have put her in with him anyway rather than Ada and Finn. Ada was the one she'd had the most difficulty with, but as for Finn? She got on well enough with him, he didn't challenge her like Ada did – or had, it seemed the birthday present might finally be the end of that – but she didn't adopt an older sister approach to him either, she didn't try and tell him what to do or nag at him or ask him to help her with anything, like she'd do with Lily. She just let him be.

Lily on the other hand – Lily pushed Finn into that older brother role, which Tommy would have thought the boy could benefit from. But something was bothering him – and something that was specifically linked to Tuesday night's episode.

"Finn, I just put you in the corner, same as I did Lily," Tommy pointed out.

His brother pulled a face – he didn't quite have the audacity to roll his eyes in his current position, but the face made his feelings clear -, "Yeah but you're gonna take me out back and punish me properly, that was just waitin'!"

His aunt pulled out the seat next to him, spinning it round to join them, "Finn I know Tommy's soft on Lily, but you've got to understand that-"

"She's a baby, I know!" he grumbled.

"She is," his aunt nodded, "And you get precious few years with a baby when they want to be picked and carried around and hugged and kissed – when was the last time you let me do that, eh?"

He pulled a face.

"Exactly – I get the odd hug now and that's about it," his aunt told him, "So sometimes adults get a bit daft around a baby because they get to do all that and it makes us feel special and you big ones don't let us anymore."

Finn was quiet for a moment while he processed that, during which his aunt turned to Tommy gave him a second, more irritated look.

"Aunt Polly's right," Tommy told his brother with a sigh, "But in terms of me being soft on Lily and just putting her in the corner – I know that's frustrating for you, I remember times Mum'd send me out back for something and John'd do the same thing a week later and just get a dirty look and it frustrated me no end. I understand. But I'm sharing Lily with her sister and I don't just get to decide how to handle everything. And between you and me, if I get it wrong I'm not convinced Rosie wouldn't go and give me a good hiding."

He punched his brother lightly in the arm and got the glimmer of a watery smile in return.

"Plus – she's a girl Finn, we've got to treat girls more softly, they're softer creatures."

"Rosie's not! Aunt Polly's not!"

Polly clicked her tongue, evidently not entirely sure if this was a compliment or an insult.

"They're the exception Finn," Tommy told his brother – then added, "Plus didn't you see the two of them getting all worked up over Ada's birthday present? They're bloody worse than normal girls – they've got all the feelings just the same and it's all buried under layers of pretending to be tough so you have to dig through it all to get there and know what they're actually thinking or feeling!"

Polly looked murderously at him and he had a feeling she was about to say something when George came back in, tears rolling down his face, clutching his backside, John following behind and looking no better in several ways.

"You want me to do Isaiah?" he asked Tommy, his voice slightly hoarse.

Truthfully, yes, Tommy could have happily done with passing the job over – but John was clearly done. Maybe his brother should just marry Lizzie Stark and bring her to family meetings. Give him someone to share the burden with. Tommy would bear the awkwardness of sitting across from her at family occasions if it meant John would have things easier. 

He shook his head, "Give us it," he said, holding out his hand for the strap, which John seemed grateful to pass over.

"Right, you get back in the corner and think about the fact your old brother just wants someone to cuddle him a bit more whilst I go out and deal with Isaiah," he said to Finn, taking his arm and pushing him in the direction of the corner.

"And you," he turned his eyes on his nephew, trying not to harden his voice since the boy had been punished, "You go and apologise to Lily – she's in the front room."

The boy nodded and disappeared through.

"You alright?" he turned his eyes on his brother.

John rubbed the back of his neck, "That's the first time I've taken him out the back."

Shit.

"I didn't know," Tommy told him.

John shook his head, "No, he deserved it. I've threatened him plenty, but I've never gone through with it. Fucks sake!"

His brother rubbed his face with his hands.

"You were going to have to go through with it at some point John," his aunt said, standing up and touching his brother's arm gently.

John dropped his hands and nodded, "I know, I know. But 'snot-"

"It's not easy, I know. But it's the right thing sometimes, eh?" Tommy said, echoing his brother's own words of comfort back at him, attempting to reassure him.

John nodded.

"Look – if you want Lizzie Stark then fuck what anyone else thinks, if the kids need a mother and you need," he broke off, glancing at Finn in the corner, who was probably listening to them, "If you need someone to help you, do what you need to do mate, eh?"

John shook his head, "Nah, it's not – it's not like that."

"You sure?" Tommy asked, aware his brother would probably hide it if it was like that.

John and Ada both put too much store by other people's opinions, in his own humble opinion.

"Yeah Tom, she just watches the kids sometimes. She helps, but it's not – it's not like that."

He clapped his brother on the shoulder, "Well try and find a woman who helps that it is like that with, eh? I better get out, Isaiah's probably freezing his bollocks off out there."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments and kudos - they're very much appreciated!


	19. Chapter 19

Tommy had a feeling Jeremiah doubted whether Isaiah had been properly chastised when he delivered the boy to him, but he didn't have the time or inclination to argue about it – Finn was still in the corner and they both probably wanted this thing done.

His original anger had gone a little – it reared up when he pictured Lily in front of the fire and the fact that all three of them had held her – three against a six-year-old girl, Jesus-fucking-Christ. But when he separated the anger to be split across the three culprits and told himself that two of them had been dealt with, he was able to put it aside and stay calm.

The cigarette he smoked on the walk back helped. Ada was out on the street with some of her friends when he got back to Watery Lane and when he caught her eye she shouted over to him that John had gone home with George and Katie. He nodded, throwing the end of his cigarette down. That was probably just as well.

The front room was empty when he opened the door, and he figured Rosie had maybe taken Lily up the stairs to get away from it, so he was surprised when he went to the kitchen to see them in it with Polly and Finn still in the corner.

"Tommy, Finn said sorry," Lily said upon seeing him standing in the doorway.

He nodded, keeping his face blank, "So he should be."

She looked troubled at that and didn't reply. He didn't entirely understand why, but he realised that something about what was bothering Finn with Lily was how soft he was with her, so he didn't say anything else to her, not trying to reassure her after his harsh remark – though he wanted to.

"We've had a little chat," Polly told him – he raised an eyebrow in response, wondering if Polly's definition of 'little chat' meant she'd leathered Finn for him while he was gone. Half hoping it did, though being fairly sure it didn't given he still had his nose in the corner where it had been when Tommy had left.

"Lily's been told that Finn's been a bit jealous of her taking your attention," Rosie spoke up, "And that he did what he did because he didn't know what to do to get your attention back other than by acting up."

He looked between her and Polly, before turning to the back of Finn's head. Bloody hell. Was she right?

"That right Finn?"

The boy took a moment before saying, "Kind of."

"Kind of?"

"Well, yeah," Finn mumbled.

"Well that was a bit fucking stupid wasn't it?" Tommy asked with a click of his tongue whilst he tried to think of what to say to the new information.

The boy shrugged.

Tommy sighed, "I thought I told you to stop shrugging."

"Sorry," Finn muttered.

Tommy rubbed the bridge of his nose. His brother thought the only way to get his attention was by acting like a little twat. And by doing something that could have ended in disaster. What was he meant to make of any of it? He pulled out a chair and sat down, resisting the urge to put his head down on the wooden surface and close his eyes and hope it would all just go away.

It wasn't until Lily came over to him and he gladly pulled her up onto his lap and held on to her that Tommy really appreciated how much he got from the child. Before Lily he had always had to in control of himself – or maybe that wasn't the right phrase, because he was in control now. But he couldn't be soft. It wasn't only that he needed to be soft with her, it was that being soft with her, having someone to be soft with, felt good. Felt like a relief from every other minute of the day when he was out striking the fear of god into people with calculated words and actions and razor blades if need be. 

He had wanted Finn to start toughening up – and the harsh reality was the boy did need to toughen up. But he needed to toughen up outside the house, not so much in it, Tommy realised. If he was going to try and learn to balance himself, Finn could manage.

"Lily," he said, after a few minutes of silence contemplation, during which he felt the eyes of Rosie and his aunt on him, waiting to see how he'd choose to proceed. The bab, who had been playing with her fingers, the tension seeming not to touch her, looked up at him, "How do you feel about Finn saying sorry?"

"He said sorry," she said, shrugging.

"Yes, but do you accept his apology?"

"Yeah!" she answered – in a tone that might have been accompanied by an eye roll.

He frowned, "Lily I don't like that tone, I wouldn't take it from Ada or Finn so I'm not going to take it from you, do you understand? When I ask you a question I want it answered nicely."

She frowned at him, then bit her lip and mumbled an apology.

"That's okay – but let's try again – do you accept Finn's apology?"

"Yes Tommy."

"Good girl, that was a much nicer answer," he said, kissing her head and hugging her tight for a minute.

"Right, Finn," he said, raising his voice.

The boy looked over his shoulder nervously.

"Get over here," he told his brother, beckoning him to him.

The boy sidled over, his eyes on the floor.

"Finn, Lily has accepted your apology," Tommy said.

His brother didn't respond verbally but he nodded. Tommy reached out and took his brother's hand, remembering how Finn had clung to his on their walk home the day he had last gone out the back. Finn jolted a little and looked surprised but didn't try and take his hand out of Tommy's grip.

"Finn, what you did was stupid – you know that right? Lily could have been seriously hurt."

His brother nodded and Tommy squeezed his hand.

"And if that was about getting my attention and you couldn't figure any other way to do that then you might be the thickest of the lot of us."

Finn bit his lip and nodded again.

"But," Tommy said, and his brother finally looked in his eye, "I accept that my time has been more split than before."

"You're home more but it's not for me or Ada," Finn blurted out.

Tommy nodded, "Yeah, I guess that's fair. Finn, I'm sorry if I've not given you as much time as I used to. I suppose I didn't appreciate that you need my time still. I don't like what you chose to do to get my attention, but I'm sorry you felt you had to do anything at all, alright?"

The boy nodded and Tommy shifted his legs and pulled him down on the knee Lily wasn't perched on, trying not to wince as the eleven year old's weight came onto him.

Finn looked at him in surprise and Tommy grinned, "If you're not too old to go over it, you're not too old to sit on it."

Finn nodded and Tommy thought he looked quite secretly pleased to be sat opposite Lily. Quite how long his own knees could take both of them for though he wasn't entirely sure.

"Right Finn, what do you say this one time we'll let it go? Lily's accepted your apology, so we can call it done with the corner, eh?"

His brother shifted on his knee a little, looking at the ground before shaking his head, "No, it'll eat away at me Tommy."

Tommy kept the surprise off his face. He was fairly sure if he'd been offered a free pass on a hiding when he was eleven he'd have jumped at it. Maybe Finn had more maturity than he gave him credit for.

"Alright then," he told his brother, nudging him up and off his knee, keeping an arm on his waist, "Good man."

He turned his attention to Lily, "You go back to your sister bab, me and Finn are going to go out back and get this done with."

She didn't move but stared at Finn with wide eyes before saying, "Finn, do you want to get smacked?"

He glanced down at her in annoyance, "Of course I bloody don't. But I'll feel better after."

"Oi! I just had a word with her about her tone, don't make me repeat it," Tommy told his brother, "And don't swear, you're still not old enough."

He waited a minute but Finn's mind seemed to have already gone to steeling himself for what he was about to get and he decided to let it go.

"Right Lily, off you go," he said, moving his hand from Finn to pick her up with both of his and putting her feet on the floor.

Polly stood and came to take her hand, saying, "Come on pet, you and me will go have a seat in the front room and let these two have their privacy."

It wasn't so much privacy Tommy knew, Finn had been out the back enough times and been on the receiving end of enough smackings in the house to have about as much concern as any other Shelby for their privacy when they were on the receiving end of some discipline – which was absolutely none, all their concerns related entirely to their backsides in those moments, even Ada only cared about her dignity to begin with – but he realised Polly thought Lily might be upset at overhearing anything.

Rosie stood to follow them, and just as she got to the door Finn spoke up and said, "Rosie – eh – I'm really sorry for how I acted."

She turned and ran her eyes up and down him before saying, "You reckon you're going to feel better after Tommy takes you out back?"

Finn clearly wasn't sure if it was a trick question or not, but he nodded after a pause.

"Good, I'm glad," she replied softly, and gave him a smile, before turning and heading through to the front, closing the doors on her way.

Tommy stood up and put his arm around Finn's shoulders for a minute before saying, "Finn, I'm really proud of you – I hope you know that."

The boy shrugged and Tommy thought about giving him a smack for shrugging again – but then maybe the shrug was a genuine answer, and maybe that was more his fault than Finn's if his brother didn't know.

"You want a warm up?" he asked his brother.

Finn shook his head, and Tommy wasn't surprised – it was one bloody thing to admit you needed one hiding, asking for a spanking first too was probably beyond the realms of all possibility. Even if they all bloody well knew that it hurt less overall if you'd already been smacked earlier in the day rather than going straight in with the strap, but it was what it was.

He picked up the razor strop, still lying on the table where he'd thrown it down after coming in with Isaiah - ironic really, seeing in twisted in about all of Ada's presents and discarded paper – in one hand and held out his other hand to his brother, who placed his own in it. Tommy gave a gentle tug and the two headed out the back door.

It was cold and Tommy was glad he hadn't taken off his coat from coming back in. Still, Finn would be warm enough soon.

"Right Finn – hands on the wall," he said nodding his head at the knee-high wall that ran in between the bit of the back that was supposed to be theirs and what was supposed to be next door's, though of course the two next doors were both the shop.

He thought about making Finn count them out – he knew from his own experience that it was less easy to transport yourself elsewhere and try to block out what was going on on your backside if you had to remember to focus and count them – but he decided if there was ever a thrashing the boy should be able to zone out of it was this one.

He raised the strap and brought it down with a crack. Finn rocked forward a little, and bent and straightened his knees a few times, but didn't cry out. The second got the same and the third got much the same with a small gasp.

It was the sixth he stood properly on, his hands going to his rear end.

Tommy let him go for a minute before saying, "Come on, back over Finn."

The boy complied but began crying properly on the seventh stroke.

Tommy paused to rub his hand over his brother's back, "Doing well Finn lad, only another four to go and we're through."

Finn nodded and Tommy stood back and brought it down again saying, "Three more and we're done and it's behind us Finn."

He did the next two across the tops of Finn's thighs, knowing the boy would think it odd if he left them completely untouched, and they resulted in him hopping from foot to foot but he stayed in position.

"Last one Finn," Tommy told him before bring the strap down for its final lick.

Finn straightened as soon as it was done, his hands going to his rear end and jiggling from foot to foot as he rubbed frantically. Tommy folded the old strop up and stuffed it in his pocket as he waited for the dance to subside a little. When Finn eventually turned to look at him, Tommy held out his arms and was relieved when his brother came to him.

He knelt to hold him closer, running his hand through his brother's hair giving a murmuring running commentary of phrases he had fallen out of the habit of saying to the boy over the past year or so, "I'm so proud of you Finn, that's a good boy, you did well Finn, I'm so proud of you, you did good, that's it done now, it's all done now."

Finn's arms were tight around him and Tommy felt the boy's sobs wrack his whole body as he cried into his shoulder. He supposed, whilst he wouldn't have volunteered himself for a spanking, much less a real hiding, at any age, he knew what Finn meant – it was a guilt cleanser, to pay the price and cry it out.

His knees were sore on the concrete but he stayed there until Finn loosened his grip a little – he had half considered sitting on the wall and pulling the boy onto his lap, but he figured Finn wouldn't thank him for it at the moment.

He wiped the boy's face with his hands once he had pulled out of Tommy's shoulder a little then came up to stand.

"I'm so proud of you Finn," he repeated again, somehow knowing it was important that the boy heard him say it, and not as part of a wave of consolation.

Finn's arms went around his waist as a fresh bout of tears started – quite what for Tommy wasn't sure but he'd wait it out. He lifted his brother's hands gently one at a time, threading them inside his coat to try and keep Finn a little warmer - or to keep his arms a little warmer anyway, he figured he was plenty warm elsewhere – folding the coat over him as much as he could and running his fingers through the boy's hair. He had always liked it when their mother ran her fingers through his hair – not that he'd ever have admitted it.

"Hey, Finn, let's go inside, it's cold out here, eh?" he asked after a while, keeping his tone as gentle as he could.

The boy sniffed and nodded, scrubbing at his face with his hands as Tommy wrapped an arm around his shoulder and steered him back into the house.

"You sit here a minute," Tommy said, leading him over to the table, "Or stand here a minute if you'd rather – I'll go get you some water."

"Can I have a whisky?" Finn sniffed with an attempt at a smile.

"You can if you fancy another session with this," Tommy said with a grin back at his brother, pulling the razor strop out of his pocket and hanging it back up by the door before reaching for a mug that was drying on the side, "I'll be back in a minute, try not to get into any more trouble in that time, eh?"


	20. Chapter 20

He made the trip out for water another twice before Finn was calm enough to consider going into the front room and facing everyone. Tommy half thought about telling him to go up to his room and have a lie down before dinner but he knew Polly would be ready to take her leave and that she wouldn't want to go without checking on him. Pol had been the sole carer of Finn whilst they'd been at war and she'd handed him back more gracefully than he reckoned he would have, given how he felt about Lily.

The truth was though, as much as he had chided Lily for seeming ungrateful earlier in the week and he didn't want to seem ungrateful himself, he wanted Polly to go. He had no intentions of going anywhere else tonight, he'd stay home. And he wanted to sit on the sofa with Rosie and tuck her small, frosty feet under his leg and talk to her without feeling he was being watched. He wanted to relax. Or relax as much as he could relax when what he really wanted to do was lay on the sofa and put his head in her lap and have her stroke his hair and reassure him. No, he wouldn't relax quite that much. But he felt a bit spent, and he wanted her uninterrupted presence as much as he could have it.

"Come on, Pol will be fretting herself," he said, putting his arm round his brother's shoulder.

"What will Pol be doing?" Pol asked, pushing the door open and coming into the room. Her patience for waiting had evidently let up.

Tommy met her eyes evenly and she glanced down at Finn.

"He took it well," Tommy told her.

She clicked her tongue and nodded, "Good. Right, head up Finn, nothing to be ashamed of – you've paid the price – that's a fresh slate, you know how it goes."

Tommy glanced down to see his brother raise his eyes a little towards their aunt. She walked over to them and patted Finn's head before reaching over and picking up her bag from where she'd left it on the sideboard.

"Well, I'm off now I know he's in one piece, there's plenty of leftovers for dinner – you make sure you eat something other than cake Finn, don't need your stomach aching as well as your backside or you won't sleep comfortably at all!"

"Bye Pol," Tommy said pointedly. Pol wasn't always the best when it came to words of comfort. She gave him a filthy look but turned and went.

"You want to come through or you want to go upstairs?" Tommy asked his brother as he heard Polly making her goodbyes to the girls in the front room.

He felt Finn shrug under his hold on him before saying, "Just go through I guess."

"I mean what I said Finn, you took it well, like a man," Tommy said, squeezing his brother to him.

Finn didn't reply and Tommy loosened his grip on his shoulder to turn the boy to him for a minute.

"Finn – before we go through – you know this is done now? Pol's right, you get a clean slate now, you know that, right?"

Finn nodded.

"Good, so I want you to know I'm not trying to go on at you – but why didn't you just come to me rather than pulling that to try and get my attention?"

Finn shrugged and Tommy resisted the urge to sigh and smack the boy on his tender backside. He knew he was difficult to be around sometimes, of course he knew that. But Finn should know – his whole family should know – when they needed something they should tell him. Family came above everything for him, that had always been the case. He was the one who stepped up to stay with Finn and Ada after all, surely they knew that he was the one who had chosen to be there for them? Surely they understood? Polly would have taken them herself, if he hadn't wanted them. But he wanted them to be raised in their own house, by him - if they couldn't have their own mother.

"Finn," said, trying to make his voice stern without being too hard.

"I didn't know that's what I was doing," his brother muttered.

"What do you mean?"

"I didn't do it on purpose – I just did it without knowing why."

"But you figured it out?" Tommy asked with a raised eyebrow.

Finn shook his head, "Rosie explained it."

"Oh did she indeed?" Tommy asked, managing not to roll his eyes as he was tempted to.

"Yeah."

Tommy didn't reply to that, he just turned it over. Bloody discussions. Bloody words. The woman who had told him to stop saying sorry because she didn't put anything by words – she put bloody everything by words.

"You know how Polly know-"

" _Aunt_ Polly," Tommy cut across his brother.

"Yeah Aunt Polly," Finn said, accepting the pointer, "She knows what's going to happen before it does sometimes? Or knows whether a woman's going to have a boy or a girl before it's born?"

Tommy nodded.

"Rosie's the same, but it's about feelings not things. It's like she knows what you're feeling before you do, and she explains it to you and it makes sense but you didn't know that that was what you were feeling, or you didn't know what it meant or why. Even though I still don't think she has any feelings herself, maybe that's why she gets everyone else's."

Typical. That would be just fucking like him wouldn't it? To bring in another bloody woman who had a knack for knowing too much into the house. His stomach churned a little, wondering what she might have gathered about his feelings. The thing was, he had the same skill. It was what made him good at his business – he could read people, figure them out, figure out their breaking points. He just didn't bother trying to figure out feelings that weren't ones to be manipulated.

Outwardly though, he snorted and said, "And there was me thinking it was the little one was causing all the trouble."

"I like them. I know what I said-"

"Yeah but you said it when you were upset."

Finn nodded.

"And Lily's forgiven you."

Finn nodded again.

"And if I did a good enough job out there, you've forgiven yourself."

Finn tried to give him a smile, but it came out more of a grimace.

Tommy cuffed him gently on the back of the head, "Don't worry, I'm not expecting you to thank me for it, I'm just expecting you to move on same as I have."

Finn nodded.

"Alright then, but one last thing Finn, eh?"

The boy looked to him.

"I meant what I said – we protect family above all else. Family above everything else Finn, eh? And that's the case whether that's you looking after Lily or me looking after you – I'm not Polly or Rosie, I'm not a mind reader - if you need something from me Finn, I need you to tell me, alright?"

The boy swallowed but nodded. Tommy wasn't convinced - but things didn't just change overnight, ever. Well, except when he brought two girls into the house with no warning. But generally, they didn't. He just had to pay more attention to what his little brother was up to, make sure he was splitting his time more.

He crossed to the door and held it open for Finn, who headed through under his arm, visibly steeling himself. Tommy patted his shoulder before swinging the door to the front room open and pushing Finn gently through.

"Well that was good timing, Lily's just beaten me at Snap so maybe you could give her some competition?" Rosie said, turning to gaze at Finn over her shoulder from where she was sitting on the floor.

Tommy watched the boy give her a sheepish grin, then glance up to him before nodding, seemingly almost shyly.

Lily stood up, holding the cards haphazardly and offering them out to Finn, who crossed to her but took the cards and fiddled with them, neatening them into a pile and not looking at her.

"Do you feel better now?" Lily asked – and Tommy noticed there seemed to be something nervous in her voice.

Finn nodded, "Yeah. Sore, but better."

"I'm sorry I got you into trouble," Lily said then burst into tears.

Finn sighed exasperatedly and looked to Tommy, who raised an eyebrow at him and nodded at the child. Gingerly, Finn held out a hand to the girl, who took it as an invitation to throw her arms around him and cry into his stomach.

He glanced at Rosie, who rolled her eyes and shook her head in what seemed to be her own exasperation, before he awkwardly patted the back of Lily's head and said, "You didn't get me into trouble Lily, I got myself into trouble."

She didn't respond but continued to cry, until Rosie put her hands on her sister's waist and tugged her off of Finn, gathering her into her arms and standing, pacing the room and rocking her.

Finn and Tommy watched her, and she must have felt their eyes because she looked up at Finn for a minute then smiled and said, "Oh don't you worry Finn, she's just going through an adjustment period and crying because she's overwhelming herself."

"How?" Finn asked, clearly confused.

"Ah she's only had me for most of her life, it's new to her – caring about a wider set of people. And when we first came it was all new and exciting but she's settling in now and the excitement doesn't cancel out everything else and she has to process all the things that she didn't notice before. And she's only little, so it's a lot for her body to process – so she gets upset and has a cry and that lets some of it out."

Finn nodded. Tommy guessed the boy understood about crying letting some of it out, even if he didn't understand much else.

"Finn reckons you're a witch, thinks you understand too much about other people's feelings," Tommy said.

Finn blushed and ducked his eyes, but Rosie grinned, "I wouldn't mind some magic powers - but the boring truth is I spent a lot of time at that Central Library in town when I knew Lily was coming, tried to learn what all those experts had to say about children."

She was fifteen and Lily was six – Tommy's heart gave a jolt at the idea of a nine-year-old girl going to the library to try and learn how to raise a child. Not for the first time he wondered what in hell had been wrong with Molly Jackson. He had been sixteen when Finn was born, seventeen when their mother had killed herself – he had been scared then at the idea of having to step up and raise Finn and Ada, and he'd watched his mother raise John and start raising Ada. And he had Polly to help. And Arthur and John, to an extent. She had armed herself with what she found at the library, and she had done a good bloody job – alone.

"Well you obviously learned a lot," he said, "You do good with her."

"You're good with her too," she said, then, moving her eyes to Finn, "Good with everyone it seems."

He snorted, "You've not seen me outside the house."

She laughed and jiggled the child on her hip, "Point taken – good with everyone in your house then."

"I try – can't say I ever read any books though," Tommy said, taking a cigarette out and sticking it in his mouth before he commented on what he thought of her mother making a nine-year-old feel like she had to read the bloody books.

"I don't do half of what they suggested – they said you shouldn't pick the baby up or cuddle it – clearly I couldn't manage that for more than a minute after she arrived."

"Is Lily your sister or your baby?" Finn asked, wrinkling his face up.

"Both," she said with a smile, "Same way as you're Tommy's brother but you're his baby too."

"I'm not Tommy's baby!" Finn said, as though the idea was mad.

"Oh Lily, Finn's a silly boy, isn't he?" she said to the top of her sister's head. Lily's face was still pressed into her sister as she cried, although more softly now – the tears reaching their end.

Finn turned to look at Tommy to back him up, but he just smirked at his little brother, who rolled his eyes. He knew he could hardly ask Finn to start coming to him and telling him what he needed if he didn't start using those softer words in the first place, but – well – nothing changed overnight, like he'd already thought.

He braced himself, but managed to say with relative casualness, "Ah Finn's too old to be my baby – but he's my boy."

Despite the casualness in his voice, Finn still looked over his shoulder at him like he was mad too. His brother's eyes flicked between the smile Rosie was giving him over the top of the blonde head of her sister and his own face, clearly worried he'd wandered into an asylum.

"Can I go out?" he asked eventually, his eyes going to the front door, eyeing up his escape.

"Nope – you're in for the night, same as me Finn. Come on, we'll play snap eh?" he went to where Rosie had come to a halt as Lily's cries also came to theirs, "Lily bab, will you come to me a minute?"

The girl pulled her tear stained face out of her sister's chest but looked to him and agreed to be passed over.

"You heard what Finn said, eh? You didn't get him into trouble, he got himself into trouble, right? So there's no need for you getting upset – and he's been punished and you've forgiven him and I've forgiven him so we're moving on and he's feeling better, so you don't need to feel bad on his account either, eh?"

She nodded.

"Good girl, now – your sister is obviously rubbish at snap, but Finn's quite good, so what do you say we have a game before dinner?"

Lily nodded in agreement, laughing as Tommy got down on the floor, holding her carefully and groaning that he was too old to be crawling about on the ground, that he was an old man.

"Does the old man want a cup of tea?" Rosie asked him, with a raised eyebrow and an amused smirk playing around her mouth.

"The old man might need something stronger than tea if he's to get back up," Tommy replied, rolling his eyes.

"Arthur played at being my horse and he's older than you," Lily told him.

"Arthur played at being your horse did he eh?" Tommy said, "Didn't think he still had it in him. D'you remember when he'd be your horse Finn? He'd get you and Ada on his back and crawl about in here – Ada beating on him to go faster just because he couldn't smack her back when he was a horse?"

Finn laughed and came over to lie out on his stomach in front of the fire, shuffling the cards, "Yeah and one time John gave him a kick on the arse and he said he'd take it from Ada cause she was his princess but he wasn't taking it from a lout like his brother and he made us get off so he could chase John all down the back."

"I'm surprised you remember that – that was before George was born," Tommy said, grinning at the memory – he had pulled Finn into his arms to go out the back to watch as their two brothers had run in and out of the washing people had hung out to dry, jumping over the little walls that theoretically separated one person's allowance of the back space from the next.

"Serve you right if one of you falls and smacks your face and loses a tooth!" Ada had shouted at them, in an imitation of Pol, but Tommy had picked her up on his other hip and she had laughed along with them as John climbed the roof of the outhouse trying to avoid capture, hamming up his fear of Arthur for the benefit of the two youngest Shelby's.

Even back then Ada had always had notions of wanting to be older than she was, wanting to be seen as grown up – always imitating Tommy or Polly or Arthur – but it had been tempered by her joy of riding around on her brother's back and an attitude that could be easily humbled. His mind drifted back to the day before – to the idea of Wrighty sliding his hands wherever and Rosie telling him Wrighty was full of it to say it in the first place – he still wasn't sure what he believed.

A glass of whisky appeared on the table by his head and he looked round at the redhead, who settled herself on the sofa with tea.

"You not playing snap?" he asked, an eyebrow raised.

"Oh I'm rubbish at it apparently," she replied, raising her own eyebrow, "So I'll referee from over here where I've got a good view, because I'm not sure _someone_ wasn't cheating earlier!"

"Lily did you hear that? That sister of yours is suggesting you were cheating – I don't believe my best girl would cheat, would you?"

Lily giggled and shook her head.

"Thought not, obviously she's just rubbish at snap and a bad loser too!" Tommy said, kissing Lily's head before taking a swig of the whisky.

Obviously the parenting books wouldn't have done him any good anyway, because how anyone was supposed to resist cuddling or picking up a baby was beyond him – beyond Arthur or Polly too, and if it was beyond them to harden themselves then it would be beyond anyone, he reckoned. Maybe he should start keeping an eye on the mothers who could manage it - start keeping tabs on them – dangerous women they'd be. Women like Molly Jackson, capable of doing real damage to the innocent.

Maybe he'd start a charity or something – take kids off of women like that all year round, give them homes where people would pick them up and cuddle them – and fuck what the books said. Kids, in his opinion, shouldn't be blamed for the sins of their parents, but he knew the parish authorities had other ideas. Still, he'd need to sort his own business first before he'd start a charity. Maybe he'd make that a goal of his – he'd know he was respectable, he'd know he'd made it when he'd made enough to buy a big house for him and Rosie to live in – with Lily and Finn and Ada – and a second big house for all the kids he'd take away from parents who were whores and drunks and just plain hopeless cases. A place kids like Rosie Jackson could go if they were in her position, where they wouldn't need to worry about paying rent (and on that note, he was due a visit to her landlord to check in on _that_ situation, to see whether her mother had been paying the rent or not) or being separated from their sisters or brothers just because the person who was supposed to take care of them had failed them.

They'd played two games of snap before Ada had come in looking for her dinner – and they'd plated up the leftover cake and sandwiches, sticking them in the middle of the floor in the front room and sitting around eating them in a way that would allow Finn to lie around as he had his dinner, rather than suffer the hard wood of one of the kitchen chairs or the humiliation of having to stand as he ate.

"Here Ada, why don't you bring that music thing in and play some of your records?" Finn asked as he stuffed a ham and cheese sandwich in his mouth.

"Cheers for the spray Finn," Ada had said, rolling her eyes – but she'd brought through the gramophone, eager herself to use it now that the drama had subsided and had played one record after another of the seven she'd received on rotation.

He wasn't entirely convinced that any of them were records she would have picked herself, but she seemed happy with them, though by far most taken with Al Jolson's You Made Me Love You – "I'd love to make someone love me when they didn't want to do it," she'd sighed after they'd finished it for the third time, to a snort from Rosie that the girl managed to turn into a half convincing cough when Tommy caught her eye.

They'd piled the plates up and Ada had demanded someone dance with her – which Finn allowed himself to be pushed into for the first half of the next song. He kept treading on Ada's feet though and Tommy eventually gave in to Rosie's pointed looks, chucked his cigarette down and tapped Finn on the shoulder before telling him to scram so Ada's feet wouldn't end up broken.

"Very gentlemanly," Rosie had snorted, "Just exactly how they phrase it in the stories when a man cuts in for a dance."

"You be careful – talking about stories, people will think you're going soft," Tommy grinned devilishly over Ada's head at her.

"Soft! Rosie!" Ada exclaimed sarcastically, "Wild Irish temper she's got, threatened to knock all of David Walker's teeth out yesterday."

"Ah we'll make that one yours then," Tommy said, nodding at her.

Wild Irish Rose was a record he'd picked up, on the pretence it was for Ada's birthday and much more because the redhead on the front did look a bit like Rosie. It was recorded by someone called Chauncey Olcott, a poor bastard Tommy almost felt a bit sorry for with a name like that, and it was from some musical in New York from what they could gather on the back.

She rolled her eyes at his comment, "Aye cause I'm the kind of person people write about and put in musicals."

Lily had wanted a dance after the song had finished, and he'd turned her around in circles to a cheery little record Polly had picked – a song he was sure his aunt would have hated, incidentally. Or hated publicly whilst listening to it privately.

"Right, my wild Irish Rose, your turn," he'd said, extending a hand to her once Lily had sat down with a thump – and, he suspected guiltily, some dizziness in her head.

Rosie shook her head, snorting at him.

"Come on, I've had every other woman in the room," he said with a smirk.

"Well that's as good a reason as any to turn you down," she smirked back.

He rolled his eyes, "Come on."

She shook her head, "I don't dance."

"What do you mean you don't dance?"

"I don't dance."

"Can you imagine her dancing?" Ada said with a laugh, "Come on Tommy, dance with me again."

He'd kept his eyes on Rosie but given in and twirled his sister around the small space in the front room once she'd switched the song over without pushing the redhead any further. The thing was, he could imagine her dancing. And he had. And did. He'd imagined her in his arms and here and now, in the living room with Ada's birthday present – it seemed a chaste, heavenly way to give the devil his desire. But she had denied him.

 _Let me dance with her, let me have one dance and I swear I won't let it go any further than my hand on her waist_ , he bargained with some invisible power of the universe. Maybe with the devil. Though, if the devil was real then god had to be by proxy, and he didn't believe in god.

It was an annoyance, that he couldn't make his desires go away – but he was a patient man. He had to be. If he wanted to succeed in business, to see his strategies play out – it was just like in the war. He'd go down and build those tunnels and then, at some later day, those tunnels would get used to take down the opposition. He just had to keep tunnelling now, keep clay kicking. He couldn't make the desire go away, but he was no stranger to living with the desire.

But not tonight.

He'd given her his silence yesterday. He wanted something from her today. But judging by how she'd stepped out of his hold in the kitchen earlier, he wasn't the only one playing the game of denial.

So, he waited a while. He waited till she'd put Lily to bed and he'd seen Finn and Ada off and she was faffing about cleaning up the glasses and ashtrays and plates.

"Leave them for tomorrow," he said, loitering in the kitchen door as she dumped another load into the sink.

"Oh I don't want to be bothering with them tomorrow – or leaving them for Polly. You know it's not fair how you expect her to work in your business and run your house Tommy."

He raised an eyebrow, "Not fair is it?"

She caught his tone and turned and raised an eyebrow back, "No it's not."

"I'll tell you what's not fair," he said, coming over to pin her up against the sink, "What's not fair is me getting a dance with every girl in the room except you."

Yesterday, when he'd held her hand, it had been the first time in weeks that they'd touched – and it had felt intimate and intoxicating. And earlier, over Ada's present opening, he'd touched her waist. And far from those small touches satisfying the desires he had had over the past few weeks to touch her, they had left him wanting more and so he wanted to press against her now – but he didn't, settling instead only to invade her space past what would have been appropriate to an onlooker, drinking in the smell of her.

She tilted her head back to meet his eye defiantly, "I told you – I don't dance."

"Why not?"

"I've never danced."

"So you don't know how?"

She shook her head, her eyes still boring into his. Like fire and whisky and tobacco and saints' halos, all rolled into the two holes in her head that he never wanted to see looking at another man.

"Well," he smirked down at her, "Luckily for you all you need to do is let the man take control."

She snorted, "Is that all? I'm not very good at letting a man take control Mr Shelby."

"Ah but it's not just any man, it's me."

"You reckon that makes a difference, do you?"

"I believe we've already had a conversation Miss Jackson about how if I decide on something there will be no letting me or not letting me on your part," he said, a smile lingering around the corners of his mouth.

Her little lips parted for a moment and her breath seemed to come a little more heavily at his words but she didn't reply.

"I'll judge by that that you remember exactly how I said I'd deal with disobedience?"

"I remember I said I'd consider agreeing to – to _that_ – after a discussion was had, and only when I went against your rules that were about safety! I don't see that not letting you bully me into a dance is unsafe for anything except your ego Thomas Shelby."

"Now, y'see, damaging my ego is dangerous – there's many a man would try and tell you that, but they don't talk so good anymore without their tongues," he said, leaning forward and placing a hand on the sink on either side of her, resisting the urge to run his thumb along her lower lip – which still hung slightly open, small and delicate but slightly plumper than the top lip with its sharp points at its cupid's bow.

"You wouldn't take my tongue though, you'd just take me out the back?" she said.

She raised her chin at him and kept her face defiant, but at the same time her hands had gone to his exposed forearms and rested there quite gently.

"Take you out the back?" he snorted quietly, shaking his head, "No my darling girl, there'd be no need to take you out the back, you'd just go over my knee for a good old-fashioned spanking to make you nice and compliant."

She flushed but swallowed and retorted, "Nice and compliant aren't words that generally apply to me."

"Not where anyone else is concerned maybe, but they'll apply where I'm concerned," he told her, flicking his eyebrows, turning his arms and running them through her grasp till their hands met.

"You think so?" she asked, trying hard to keep the bite in her voice.

"Oh, I know so," he said, stroking his thumbs against the backs of her hands, still damp from the basin.

"You're a bully."

"Baboon, bat, bear, bully. Haven't heard of the last one, if I take us to London to go to the zoo can you point it out to me?"

"Oh I can point one out to you in the bloody looking glass right this minute Thomas Shelby! And don't be so facetious!"

"You know you're in a habit of pretending you don't want to agree to things with me whilst holding my hands, right?"

She snatched her hands away and he moved his to her waist, which caused her eyes to widen and her brows to shoot up, not so much in her usual sarcastic way. She didn't move, didn't push him off – though they both knew it was crossing some invisible line.

"So – what's it to be? My hand on your arse to make you nice and compliant or are you just going to be nice and compliant and let me have this dance?"

"Well I don't see that you're really giving me much choice," she attempted (though failed) to snap.

He smirked, "Oh I've given you a choice – it's entirely up to you."

"Alright!" she shrieked, seeming to overcompensate for the lack of volume she had managed on her last sentence, "Alright, fine – I'll dance with you – and hell mend you when I break all your toes Thomas!"

"Alright, alright," he drawled, keeping his own voice lazy, squeezing her waist, "You know you don't need to bite my arm off, you could have just said you wanted a dance."

"Why you- ! One day Thomas Shelby - I swear to God!" she snapped and pounded her fist into his chest.

It hurt more than he was prepared to let on, so he grinned and caught the wrist of her fist in his hand and turned, using it to drag her through to the front room where he'd already placed My Wild Irish Rose on the player ready to go.

He lifted the needle on to the disk and held out his hand to her, "Come on," he half whispered.

She looked at him for a long moment before she placed her small hand in his and from there he tugged her gently round into his arms, half surprised and half not surprised at how compliant she was in letting him place one of her hands onto his shoulder, sliding her other hand into his, wrapping her fingers around his of her own accord. The submission had been there already, he supposed, but he couldn't quite believe his luck that she had offered it. He placed his other hand back on her waist and kept it there – his promise to be chaste if only he could hold her slipping into his mind again. Whoever or whatever he was bargaining with they'd given him this.

And so they danced, they bodies not quite touching – only joined where their hands lay. And he felt flames spreading from those areas that engulfed his entire body – in a way his body had never been engulfed by a woman's touch before, even when the touch in question had been in more intimate areas. And she was trembling as they did, her eyes not leaving his face. And he would happily bet all his money that she was feeling that same fire he was.

When the music stopped she stepped out of his grasp quickly and said, though she seemed short of breath, "I think I will leave the rest of the tidying up actually," and left.

He got the impression she was moving as quickly as she could without running.

He stood in the living room, breathing the air where she had been, his palms tingling from where he'd held her as they danced. He lifted the needle and played the song again – staying perfectly still this time as he relived and preserved every step they'd taken in his mind.


	21. Chapter 21

Tommy didn't like to claim any real powers through his gypsy blood, but he sometimes had an instinct for things that he couldn't quite explain - and a prickly feeling started up in him the next afternoon. He couldn't gauge what it was but when Polly appeared back from the school run with Finn and Lily and said Rosie had gone to make a start on her Christmas shopping, he just _knew_ it was one of those times. Something wasn't right. What he didn't know was what that something was.

Maybe he had been stupid to demand the dance with her, but she'd appeared that morning for breakfast with Lily and given no sign that anything was amiss. No sign that she had been in his arms the night before after the rest of them had gone to bed either, of course, but no sign that anything was wrong.

"Did she say where she was going Pol?"

"Nah, gone by the time Lily and I got there – Ada told us."

"Where is Ada?"

"Walking home with her friends."

"Well at least she gave you the message this time," he said, rolling his eyes.

He figured he could go out and try and track Rosie down blind, he could wait and see if Ada could give him any more insight then go track her or he could wait for her to come home herself. The thing was, he was Tommy Shelby and the third option was a matter of something happening outside of his terms, so the third option really wasn't an option. And the first was what he most wanted to do, but it was the least sensible. He would feel like he was acting more quickly, but really the second option was his best if he wanted to find her.

Of course, Ada had to be dragging her feet somewhere and he paced the living room while he waited for her – Arthur had taken Finn and Lily out the back to slide on the ice that had appeared on the ground and Polly had gone out to keep an eye on the proceedings and shriek anytime any of the three of them wobbled.

"Finally," he snapped when she came in.

She froze, evidently thinking she was in some kind of trouble.

"Where's Rosie?" he demanded, trying to soften his tone and failing.

"She said she was going Christmas shopping," Ada said, shrugging and unwinding her scarf from her neck.

"Where?"

"In town?"

"Did anything happen today that I should know about?"

Ada glanced guiltily around the room. So he had been right, something had happened.

"Ada!"

"It wasn't my fault!" his sister protested.

"What wasn't your fault?"

"Well, they… They figured out she's living here."

"Who did?"

"I don't know – the boys from my party and then Henry Evans said you had got her the day off on Saturday for it and that you met her after work a lot and then someone asked me, and I didn't know no one was supposed to know – she never said! She never says anything Tommy! And then everyone knew, and she didn't deny it or anything, just glared around but people were – were saying things about her so she punched someone in the mouth then told me to tell you and Aunt Polly she had gone Christmas shopping and she'd be home later, and she left."

"When did she leave?"

"Lunchtime?" Ada said, biting her lip.

"Right," he nodded and began pulling his coat and gloves on, his hat already on his head.

"Tommy…" Ada said and trailed off when his eyes went to her.

She was nervous, and he wasn't sure why.

He patted her head and said, "You're not in trouble Ada, I know you didn't mean to cause anything by saying she lived here."

She looked only slightly relieved then asked, "Is Rosie in trouble?"

There was still a nervousness in her voice, and if he wasn't as worried as he suddenly was about the redhead, he might have smiled at it.

"I'm not happy she left school, but no – she's not in trouble," he assured his sister, "Not if people have been saying things about her."

"They called her a whore Tommy," Ada whispered.

His heart clenched. He had figured as much when she said they'd said things. God damn it.

He patted Ada's head again, "I'll deal with it Ada."

"I don't think she'll want you to Tommy."

"No, she won't, but sometimes even that little wench is going to have to accept what's good for her - even if it's not to her liking," Tommy replied, resolved already, "You don't know where she was going?"

Ada shook her head and he nodded curtly at her, pushing past his sister out onto Watery Lane.

Apart from anything else, Evans bandying about his movements and business at home, where his son could pick up on them and divulge them at whim, indicated Evans needed to be put on a leash. Just a little fright. Maybe a wage increase for Rosie, if she wanted to keep her job. If she didn't want to keep her job – maybe Evans didn't need a shop really after all. Or his tongue.

He cut across in the direction of the way she'd walk back from the town, hoping he might meet her en route if she'd calmed down and decided to come home. If she'd gone at lunch time she would have had a few hours on her own by now – and maybe that would have been enough.

He frowned when he saw Freddie Thorne and didn't stop to talk, only exchanging another curt nod. He had nothing to say to Freddie, though once he'd located the redhead and assessed how she was, he'd need to come back and think on Freddie some more. That was twice he'd been around now, and Tommy really didn't care for it. Bloody safe houses. He'd make the houses unsafe if he had to.

He stopped in his tracks and swivelled, changing direction. Safe houses. She'd probably gone to her own house to regroup.

Sure enough, when he hammered on the door there were footsteps he recognised as hers and the door swung open.

She started in surprise, "Tommy."

"Expecting someone else?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

She sighed, "I said I'd be back later Thomas."

"Yeah, you can be back later – doesn't mean I won't come find you in the meantime."

She rolled her eyes.

"Are you going to invite me in?" he pushed.

"Do you need to come in?"

"No, we can do this on the doorstep if you like."

"Do what?"

"We're going to have a discussion about what's going on in your head," he told her.

"Or I could shut the door on your face," she replied, though he could hear a slight hint of nerves underneath the even overtones.

He wondered if anyone else would have noticed them. He thought not.

"You're not in trouble," he said mildly, cocking an eyebrow at her, "I just want to know what you're thinking."

She snorted, "And why would I be in trouble?"

"Because you left school at lunchtime today and one of the first things we agreed on was that you'd go to school."

"Technically I went to school."

He raised an eyebrow, "You're not in trouble yet but you can talk yourself into it if you fancy with that tongue of yours."

She sighed, "Bloody Ada."

"Yeah, bloody Ada. She was worried about you. She didn't know you hadn't-"

"I know, I know," Rosie replied, waving her hands about, "I'm not angry with her – I told her that."

"She thought I'd be angry with her – went out on her usual defensive of how it wasn't her fault."

"Yeah well, it wasn't her fault," Rosie said with a shrug.

"I know – now do you want to continue this here or do you want to go inside?"

She sighed and stood back, allowing him to cross the threshold and shut the door behind him. He was suddenly aware that they were alone again and that they'd been in one another's arms the night before after weeks of not touching.

The front room in her old house was much the same as the one in Watery Lane, so he moved to stand by the empty fireplace, keeping his coat and hat on but removing his gloves, shoving them into his pocket. He looked across at her where she had come to rest against the wall by the door, her arms folded.

"Sit down," he said, gesturing at the sofa.

She raised an eyebrow, "It's my house, why don't you sit down?"

He raised an eyebrow back at her and motioned to the sofa with his eyes.

She stared at him for a moment, deliberating, then sighed and sat down, keeping her arms folded.

They didn't say anything for a while, just looked at one another.

"Why did you come back here?" he asked eventually.

"To see if there were any letters, to see if the landlord had put anything through to say the rent was overdue," her eyes were piercing into him as she said it – and he almost had a funny feeling she knew he'd paid her rent a few times. But she couldn't know - he'd put the fear of god into the man and told him no one should hear about it if he valued his tongue and his eyes.

"Were there?"

"No."

"So why are you still here if you've assessed that?"

She shrugged, "Just having a think."

"A think about what?"

"Does it matter?"

"It does to me," he said, trying to keep his voice even.

He didn't want to make it too gruff, or she'd know the emotion it covered. He didn't want to make it too flippant, lest she underestimated the truth of it.

She didn't answer.

"I'll take their tongues," he said suddenly, his voice slightly feverish, crossing to crouch in front of her where she sat, his face searching up into hers, "You tell me who it was that called you a whore and I will take their tongues and their eyes and I will make it so no one will dare to say that of you again – do you hear? You just tell me their names."

She frowned down at him, "Do you think that bothers me Thomas?"

He frowned back at her, unsure what she meant.

"Being called a whore," she answered his unasked question, "Do you think that bothers me?"

He stood up, unsure how to answer that.

"You said you knew my mother had up and left us, do you know why? Do you know where she went? Do you know what she did – for a living?"

He nodded carefully.

"Good," she nodded, "Good."

She looked off to the side and seemed to think for a minute before flicking her eyes directly up to his again, "Y'see Thomas – people have an opinion on women who are whores. Men who work in factories or who forge or who fight fires – no one has those opinions of them. Men can use the strength in their bodies and get paid for it – but a woman uses anything in her body to make money and there's some moral judgement to it. Everyone's a whore in this world, they just sell different parts of themselves and people judge them based on the fucking part they choose to offer to the market."

"It's not the same…" Tommy said but he wasn't convinced of his own words and they trailed off as she stood up in front of him, her eyes blazing.

"No, it's not the same, is it? Because it'll never be the same. You know what a good whore does Tommy? They read you. They read your emotions and your mood and they figure out what you need from them and they give you it as best they can. I reckon that's what men don't like about whores. That they see them for what they are. There's a power in that, y'know, a power that is fuck all to do with how hard you can hammer a bit of metal. A power you can't put on a scale and measure. Men get in a room with a good whore and the only power they have suddenly is the power she lets them think they have – and they pay her for it too. And they don't fucking like it – but what can they do? Nothing, because they need her. Men can't do without whores. So they take back the power where they can – outside of the room. They vilify whores. Make them sub-human, make them immoral, make them low. Make their job a slur. Tell me, you ever visited a whore Tommy?"

He stared at her, then opted for the truth, nodding wordlessly.

"So, you've visited a whore, used a whore. You're not above it, because you need them like any other man needs them. But someone calls me a whore and you'll take their tongue for me because I should be so insulted to be called that which you and every other man in this city relies on?"

"Whores need men as much as men need whores, or no one's paying them," Tommy snapped at her, defensive.

She laughed mirthlessly, "No. That's where you've got it all wrong Tommy. If there were no men, there'd be no whores. Because there would be other options for the women who become whores. But there's men and so there's none."

He pulled a face, telling her to explain what she meant.

"Think about it Thomas," she said, her eyes flashing, "Say there's a kid. Its family can't support it and it's on its own – it's about to turn sixteen so it can leave school and get a job and make a life for itself. It's not particularly smart, no more than average – and it's had the same education as any other kid who goes to school around here gets. Say that kid's a boy – what can it do? Apprenticeship, learn a trade, hell, he can do what he wants. Now, say it's a girl – she can't type in a fancy office cause she can't spell any better than that boy who could go get an apprenticeship can. And say because she's on her own she's not the most respectable looking thing, so she can't work in a shop can she? Because that's the thing if you're a girl and you want to work in a shop – it's not enough to know stock or count money, you've got to speak nicely and do your hair and wear a fucking girdle because you're not supposed to be able to breathe while you're working. And she doesn't have spare money for girdles and hair shit. So what can she do? She needs money, needs to support herself and she can't go do a manual job because the factories only want men in those jobs. She can spread her fucking legs Thomas, she can take the fact she's a woman and she can sell it. It's the only fucking option this entire fucked up society we live in has left for her. And when she takes it they'll tear her apart for daring to."

He was stunned for a moment and he didn't quite know what to say – but he could see she was getting worked up and he needed to reign her in when she couldn't reign herself in.

So he clicked his tongue and said, "Well that's all mighty fine sounding – but you work in a shop and I don't see you wearing girdles or doing your hair."

She flared, "No, I don't. But I work in a tobacco shop. And the thing about that Thomas – is that I can handle money, I can count and do math in my head – quickly – and I can read and write because I was born lucky enough to have a brain that let me pick it up, so I can do the letters and the correspondence and the deliveries. If I was a boy I'd have got the job without being able to do that – and I'd get paid more too. And he'd have to hire someone else on top of me to be able to do the deliveries and the letters and the shop boy would just be a shop boy. But no, I can do that, so I get to do all of it, and I get to do what would be at least two men's jobs for less money than one man. That's what I really don't get about any of it, y'know – all you men have engineered this whole damn world so you can use women however you bloody like and we can't do fuck all about it and half the time you'd all still choose to employ another man anyway!"

Dear god she was magnificent in her rage, her passion was... overwhelming. He'd lose all control in a minute and just wrap his arms around her and kiss her until she was quiet from fainting. But he couldn't do that.

"Will you calm down?" he snapped at her instead.

"Why should I?" she shrieked, "You know I half thought this war – god forgive me – might be a good thing when I saw how women stepped up during it, how we did all the jobs while you were all away. I thought maybe when you came back things would change, but they didn't! You just came back and chucked all the women back into what they did before and told them to be okay with it! Told them to get back to women's business."

She glared at him, her fury suddenly less aimed at men in general and specifically aimed at him.

"Now you look here Rosie, when I said about women's business-"

"Oh I know! You meant the kitchen, where women belong in your opinion!" she shouted at him.

"Do you need a good spanking to make you settle down and see reason?" he snapped, knowing he had no intention of spanking her to settle her down but not knowing what else to say to get her attention.

"Oh by all means Thomas, use your brute force to beat me into submission! That's exactly the way forward!"

She really was getting hysterical, so he grabbed her shoulders and shook her, willing her to be quiet for a moment. And to his relief – and hers though he was sure she wouldn't admit it – she did still her tongue, glaring up at him and breathing heavily as he held her.

"You look here, I don't beat women. I've never beaten a woman in my life and I don't plan to start with you, alright?"

She glared at him, then gave him a curt nod when he raised an eyebrow at her.

"Good. Now let me make this clear – I don't mind you, or any women for that matter, having opinions. Christ I'd sometimes love to hear Ada have an opinion of her own. But I'm not going to take you screaming them at me – especially not when my company treasurer is a woman. _And_ I believe I insisted I would fry bacon before I'd let you do it the day after you came to stay with me – and I believe you were the one who insisted you wanted to make dinner, I told you I didn't want anything from you, but you were the was determined to make your contributions. So I don't care for your accusations."

She continued to glare at him but didn't answer.

"Oh, now you can mind that tongue can you? Now that I've pointed out how unfounded your words are?"

She stayed silent and he rolled his eyes and released her shoulders. She crossed her arms, not softening her look.

"Well? Is that it? Nothing more to say?" he prompted her.

"Oh plenty more to say," she growled.

He crossed back to the fireplace, pulled a cigarette from his case and lit it, not hurrying himself to do so, then gestured it at her, "Well – go ahead then."

She looked taken aback for a minute then said, more calmly than before, "Well fine – I will… Thomas I like being in the kitchen, I like cooking-"

"And you're good at it," he interjected, nodding at her before returning to his cigarette.

"Well I'm glad you think so," she offered, slightly chided it seemed, "But in any case – I like it. And I don't mind that being women's business. I don't even mind the idea of women's business, not really, as a concept. But I mind when women's business to men's minds is compromised of stupid stuff because you reckon women can't wrap their brains around the things that are men's business when women can – and they did whilst the men were all away fighting. And I mind when there's women's business that you condone, like cooking and whatever, but when you think there's women's business – like whoring – that you can make a judgement on. We don't judge you for using whores."

He snorted, "Don't you?"

"Well, _I_ don't," she replied, her voice stone.

"Look," he said, "If you're looking for a man to blame for everything, it's not me. I told John to marry a whore yesterday – and I meant it. I take your point - I do. I agree with you actually, on the principal of it. But it doesn't change anything - whatever the words were, I'll take tongues from anyone who speaks badly about you. It's not the words that bother me, it's the spirit they're offered in, alright?"

"Yeah, well, I punched one of them in the mouth for their tone so there's no need for you to get involved," she said.

"Yes I heard," he told her, "You have a habit of punching don't you?"

"Deeds not words," she replied.

He snorted, "Deeds indeed. Well, you can punch whoever you like as long as its deserved – I don't mind that. I'd advise not becoming known for a signature move though, or people learn how to avoid it and if you've got nothing else to rely on you're stuck."

She looked at him in surprise for a minute before she nodded, swallowed and looked at the ground before looking back up to him and saying, "I'm sorry Tommy."

He nodded, "Forget about it," he told her out the side of his mouth, where he'd stuck the cigarette back in.

"I know you're not as pig headed as most of them, I wouldn't have agreed to come with you – and not with Lily - if I'd thought you were."

"Still a bit pig headed though?" he asked, letting his tone get slightly warmer.

"I think all men are a bit pig headed to an extent," she replied, a small smile on her pretty little mouth.

He snorted, "I prefer to think I'm vaguely chivalrous."

"Because you wouldn't beat a woman but you'd beat a man?"

He nodded.

"How gentlemanly."

"Oh I never said I was a gentleman," he said, throwing the cigarette into the empty fireplace and crossing back to her, pulling her to him and running his hand down her back, pleased to see her lower lip do that thing again where it fell slightly at his touch and her cheeks flushed a little.

"But if you value your ability to sit comfortably on this," he said, running his hands right down to squeeze at her arse, a hardening happening in his trousers when she let out a seemingly involuntary little high pitched noise from the back of her throat, "You'll learn to mind that temper and that tone. You can think what you like and I'll accept it even if I don't agree with it – and I do agree with it in this instance," he said, raising his eyebrows at her as she opened her mouth ready to speak; she closed it at his look, obedient for once, and he nodded his approval. "So long as you do as I tell you and keep yourself safe. But I'll not be shouted at. I mean, shout at other men all you like, but not me. Though I don't recommend going for Arthur either, I warned you before he's not as easy going as me."

"Easy going indeed," she snorted.

He raised an eyebrow.

"I'm sorry Tommy," she muttered, looking over his shoulder rather than at him, "I'm just upset and I don't – I mean – I don't really do all that crying stuff usually when I'm upset, I just get a bit angry and lose my temper a bit."

He nodded, gliding his hands back up to the sides of her waist and taking a slight step back, hoping she couldn't work out what was going on below his waist, "I know. That's why we're having one of your discussions and you're not just over my knee for walking out of school half way through the day. But you learn to keep that temper in check where I'm concerned - I give you a lot of liberties I don't give anyone else, and you know it, but I have a line even for you my darling girl."

She met his eye for a second and then looked down but nodded her understanding. He wondered if she had noticed the term he'd given her in his head slip out his mouth twice now.

"If it wasn't the whore thing, what was it? Why are you upset?" he pressed her.

"Because people know I'm living with you."

"I'm going to need more than that."

"Tommy – what if it reaches the wrong ears. What if people figure out Lily's there too and they realise Molly's left? I can't adopt her 'til I'm eighteen, they could take her away. And they could take me too – I'm not sixteen for a few months yet. I don't want her going to the parish Tommy, they'd take her till she was eighteen and there would be nothing I could do."

He undid the step he'd taken away from her and pulled her to him, one hand going around her waist, the other sliding up to the back of her head.

"Rosie – I promised you, you'll get everything you need from me alright? That was the bargain we made. And believe me, if the parish authorities start sniffing around and you need me to make them fuck off, I'll make sure they do, alright?"

"You're not god Tommy," she said to his chest.

"No, I'm not god. So, I'm happy doing things that would shame him. You believe me, those parish authorities aren't all the saints they're cracked up to be either and I can make sure they know I know it. So you listen to me, eh?" he stepped back and brought his face to hers, "You have nothing to worry about. No one is taking your sister away from you. I will take every tongue, every eye and every life in this city if I have to before that would happen, do you understand me? I promised you I would give you everything you needed – everything you and Lily needed – and you need peace of mind and Lily needs a stable upbringing in a stable house. And by god I know it's maybe not the most peaceful of houses, but it's stable. We're a family and you're both part of that. And no fucker is taking you away from me, you understand? Not you or Lily."

She looked at him, met his eyes and nodded, but he needed to hear her say it.

"Rosie – do you understand? You are safe. You are mine. You have my promise, do you understand?"

She had his promise, in more ways than one. He wondered, when she nodded and gave an audible yes, if she understood how many ways she had his promise.

"Good," he said brusquely, trying to make himself more comfortable with the words he'd just offered the room, offered her, "Now I've got business to get on with and I cut it short to come find you and figure out what was happening in your head."

He turned and walked to the door without glancing at her, holding it open and sighing as she went to fetch her bag and coat.

"Have you not got a scarf and gloves?" he asked her when she eventually made her way under his arm, out to the street.

"Nope."

"For fucks sake. Just as bloody well I came along when I did."

"You're awfully self-satisfied Tommy," she said as she locked the door.

"Oi! I'm still not convinced you haven't earned yourself a spanking somewhere in the middle of this, you watch that tongue," he snapped at her.

"Well I'll make you a steak pie tomorrow for dinner and that can be it alright between us again," she replied.

"At some point you're not going to be able to buy me off with your cooking."

"And you'll need to go through with one of these threats of yours," she said, almost challenging him, her eyebrow raised.

"We can head back in there right now if you're so eager for me to follow through," he said, raising an eyebrow back at her.

She bit her lip and shook her head, her cheeks flushing.

"Right – well get on home before I change my mind," he barked at her, "Ada knew I was coming to look for you, so you may as well tell her we met when you were walking home and after I made sure you were okay I went off to do some business. None of the rest of them need to know you didn't just go Christmas shopping." _Don't tell Polly I squeezed your arse_ , might have been the more accurate statement for him to make, but they were out the room now and back in the open, so he didn't. "Make things okay between you – she's worried and I know you two have developed a care for one another despite all your differences. And I'll be late, lock up – I have keys."

"Where are you going?" she asked, not commenting on his unspecified instruction not to tell anyone about them being alone together in her front room.

"What business is that of yours?" he asked her, raising an eyebrow.

"Well you made it your business to know where I'd gone."

He grabbed her arm and spun her round, landing a swat on her rear – figuring he had broken his resolution not to touch her now anyway; though he was sure that, through her green wool coat, the smack wouldn't really make all that much of an impact. It was a symbol more than anything else.

He spoke into her ear, "You've used all your liberties for the day my girl – in fact, you've used them all for the week. I have business that doesn't concern you so get on home."

"You know you told me you wanted me because you were collecting smart people for your business," she replied with a little too much snark in her voice for comfort.

He swatted her again.

"Don't test me Rosie," he growled this time, "If you want involved in my business you need to learn when to hold your tongue. Now – get."

He released his hold on her with a final smack across her coat.

She huffed and tossed her head but she pulled her satchel up onto her shoulder and began to walk in the direction of Watery Lane. He watched her go for a minute, then pulled his gloves out of his coat pocket and pulled them on, turning to walk the other way – in the direction of the tobacco shop.

He wondered just how much time they were going to spend dancing, in one way or another. 


	22. Chapter 22

The run up to Christmas was different with a child in the house – Lily was equally excited for Christmas Day to arrive and slightly worried that Father Christmas wouldn't know she had moved - and they all had to take turns at reassuring her that he would definitely know where to find her.

Tommy was pleased to see Finn making an effort with her, and the two of them did most of the decorating of the Christmas tree that they put up in the living room, with Ada sighing and adjusting things in their wake whilst he and Rosie sat on the couch watching them and advising when asked to. Finn even held the chair Lily stood on to reach the higher branches of the tree, which left Tommy feeling almost useless until he was at least called upon to lift her so she could put the angel on the very top.

Her adjustment period, as Rosie had termed it, seemed to be settling, there were less tantrums and tears – they weren't gone altogether by any means, but they became more manageable and Tommy began to recognise them more quickly when they started. He found that carrying her off and out the room, out of the situation, was often the easiest way to settle her before she got into the full swing of one and they'd avoided a descent into threats of smacks or being put in the corner again so far.

Her behaviour was good enough that they went to town one day after school to look at the tree and get the dress from the window – though Tommy braced himself for a tantrum from the older Jackson sister when he paid for it, sliding the money across the counter before the assistant had even rung the dress up. It was a red dress with a black velvet bow around the middle and layers upon layers of tulle on the skirt, which Tommy could just envision going up in flames if it went anywhere near the fire, and he was damn glad she hadn't had the bloody thing to wear to Ada's birthday tea.

Rosie glared at him as he lent over the counter to take the bag from the sales assistant, her amber eyes just visible over the chunky rust coloured scarf he'd unceremoniously wrapped around her neck before school the morning after the day at her old house, pressing the matching gloves into her hands and placing the hat atop her unruly mane. He was quite pleased with himself – the colour matched her hair and her eyes and the green coat. And she had made the effort to seem displeased with them, but she'd worn them every day since.

"You straighten your face or I'll suggest to Lily we find you a matching dress for Christmas Day," he murmured into her ear as Lily eagerly took the parcel from his hands, determined to carry it herself, despite it being practically her size.

Rosie gave him a kick in the shin for his words but didn't rise as much as he thought she might have. His words about minding her tongue if she wanted to be in his business seemed to have had a good effect on her – though she was still quick with her words when it was just the two of them.

If he had been worried that she was losing her mouth altogether though, the next stop on their trip would have proved him wrong.

They went to Harrison's on the way home after the dress had been purchased and it seemed it was common knowledge now that the Jackson sisters lived at 6 Watery Lane under the care of Tommy Shelby – not that anyone from the parish had shoved their nose in yet.

"Mr Shelby, what can I do for you?" Harrison asked as they entered the sweet shop.

"Right Lily, what do you fancy?" Tommy asked the child, picking her up onto his hip so she could see the jars of sweets that lined the walls behind the counter and look at the chocolate bars.

"Ice cream," she replied, pointing at the dispenser in the back corner.

"Ice cream eh?" Tommy said with a grin, but Rosie cut across to say, "Absolutely not Lily – it's too cold for a start and you'll make a mess with it before we get home."

"You calm down, I'd have talked her out of it," Tommy said, shaking his head and rolling his eyes at her but smirking as he did so.

"No use telling a redhead to calm down Mr Shelby," Harrison replied.

"Oh don't I know it," Tommy replied, flicking his eyebrows at the redhead in question.

"Hmm," was all she said in reply.

"Lots of girls getting their hair cut short like that these days, seems to be on trend," Harrison said, nodding to her.

"Hmm," was the repeated reply, though her eyes looked to the shopkeeper this time.

It was true. Despite her haircut being a thoroughly practical choice, the ironic thing was the fashion seemed to be moving towards the bobbed cut and Ada wasn't alone in trying to turn her straight hair into something that more closely resembled what Rosie's did of its own accord. Ada's hair, to his sister's delight, had become much more accommodating since the introduction of the contraption Rosie had bought her for her birthday, though Tommy didn't thank her for the burning smell they now had to endure every Friday or Saturday night.

"You should really do something about it, Mr Shelby," Harrison said, moving his eyes to Tommy's.

Tommy kept his face blank.

"It's not respectable for a girl to have hair like that – if my wife or daughter came in with hair like that I'd give her a damn good spanking."

He opened his mouth, about to point out that Rosie was neither his wife nor his daughter, but before he could the man had a knife at his throat, Rosie wielding it.

Harrison took a quick step back, but she hopped up as quick as a flash on the counter, closing the gap.

"Funny how your words don't leave your throat so easily when there's a knife there, eh?"

Harrison's eyes flicked to his.

"No, don't you look at him," she said, her voice icy calm, "You might think my non-respectable hair has something to do with him, but it doesn't. It's funny though – it doesn't have much to do with you either - unless I'm mistaken, I don't recall asking you what you thought about my hair."

Harrison didn't say anything, and she swung her legs round so they dangled on his side of the counter, where she could jump down at any minute.

"My hair may be not be respectable – but I'll tell you Harrison, I've got enough self-respect that I'm not going to take comments like that from the likes of you. Now, why don't you just do what you're supposed to do rather than giving your unsolicited opinions – my sister wants a fucking ice cream and I've got a mind for some rhubarbs and custards, so just toddle along and busy yourself with that, eh?"

Tommy turned around to hide his laugh and put Lily down so he could fish in his pocket for his cigarettes and lighter. Rosie dropped herself back on the customer side of the counter and said thank you very sweetly when Harrison handed her the ice cream and the sweets, but she passed Lily the tub and flounced out, shoving the paper bag of rhubarb and custards in her pocket without paying.

Tommy lit his cigarette, inhaled deeply, exhaled and nodded his head to the shocked man behind the counter before following the girl outside - also without paying. If Harrison thought he was going to undermine the point she was making, the shop keeper was greatly mistaken.

"Give me that bag Lily before you make a mess and get ice cream all over your new dress before we even get to Christmas morning," Rosie said, reverting to her home-self and fussing over the child as soon as the door had closed.

Lily clutched her tub of ice cream in one hand and her bag in the other and looked up to him, the small look of defiance that he was beginning to recognise coming into her eyes.

"You give me that bag Lily, your sister's mad as a hatter and I don't fancy our chances arguing with her," he said, hoping the joke would calm her before the tears or screaming started, "And apart from anything else you need both hands to eat that ice cream."

The child sighed and considered but eventually held out the bag to him, which he threw on his shoulder, raising an eyebrow at her. She blushed and turned her attention to the ice cream, docile again.

"Never mind mad as a hatter - her sister's mad as hell," Rosie snapped, "What bloody right does he think he has to comment on my hair? And for him to – to say that you should _do something_ about. Bloody hell! Bloody men! I'd like to run the whole bloody lot of you off the face of this earth."

"Well I don't think he'll be saying anything again," Tommy said evenly.

She growled and shoved her hands in her pockets, scuffing her shoe and they began the walk towards Watery Lane, Lily dripping the ice cream down her coat – which he noticed Rosie noticing and rolling her eyes at, but she didn't comment – evidently willing to bear the results of the rod she'd created for her own back.

"So, where did you get it?" he asked her once they were back in the house and Lily had taken the dress and run through to the shop to show it to Arthur and John and Polly.

"Arthur gave me it," she replied, not looking at him.

"Why?"

She smirked, "Because you told me not to become known for a signature move, so I figured I'd learn how to do something other than punch."

He clicked his tongue then said, "Well fair enough," and went to move through to the shop and find out how bad business had been for the day.

"Tommy," she said suddenly.

He turned and raised an eyebrow at her.

"What he said – about if his wife or daughter had hair like mine…"

"That he'd give them a good spanking?"

She nodded, flushing.

"Who'd give who a good spanking?" Polly's voice interrupted as she came through from the kitchen.

Rosie looked off to the side.

"Mr Harrison who owns the sweet shop-" Tommy began.

"Oh he figured out you distracted everyone and let those kids turn over his shop eh?" Polly said to Rosie with a grin.

She moved her eyes between him and Polly and frowned, clearly not realising Polly knew about it.

"You think I didn't tell her?" Tommy asked, smirking at the girl being on the back foot for once.

Rosie crossed her arms and glared back at the two of them, "I don't see why it was relevant that you'd tell-"

"Because I was explaining that you understand strategy," he cut across her, raising an eyebrow.

"It was hardly a strategy," she said, rolling her own eyes.

"Oh it was," he said, "Not the most complicated or sophisticated of strategies I grant you, but strategy nonetheless."

"He was explaining why he needs you," Polly told the girl.

"I don't believe I said need," he said quickly, defensive.

"Oh, for goodness sake!” Polly huffed and turned back to the kitchen, “Maybe it's the two of you that need a good spanking!”

The air was thick for a moment before he prompted her, "Well, what about what he said?"

She bit her lip and looked off to the side again, "Would you – I mean – for my hair?"

He pulled a face, "What do I care about how you do your hair?"

"You got rid of all my clothes Thomas."

"Yeah, I did," he said, realising where her mind was going, "Because they weren't fit for purpose. I care about you being safe – do what you like with your bloody hair."

She gave him a half smile, "Good, I will."

"You do that," he nodded and turned back, continuing through to the shop, before changing his mind and coming back to the front room and deciding to commit to what he'd been thinking on for a while.

"Do you know how to shoot?"

She blinked at him, "Why would I know how to shoot?"

"Well, you punch well and you were pretty convincing with that knife.”

"No, I don't know how to shoot. And I don't really know what I'm doing with the knife either but Arthur said I just had to act confident and it would do the work for me."

He snorted, "Aye that's Arthur – arms you then half remembers you're a woman and not a fucking blinder."

She didn't say anything. He lit a fresh cigarette and took a long drag.

"Right – after Christmas. I'm going to teach you how to shoot. If you're determined to have that mouth on you you'll probably need to know soon enough how to back it up and confidence will only get you so far," he said, waving his cigarette at her.

"You told me I could shout at any man who wasn't you," she replied, raising an eyebrow.

"I did, but I didn't say there wouldn't be consequences, I just said I wouldn't give you any. Besides, you didn't shout - which is why I've decided to let you keep the knife and think you might be ready to learn how to hold a gun, if you can keep hold of your temper finally."

" _Let me_ keep it?!"

"Yes," he said firmly, raising an eyebrow, "Let you keep it."

She snorted at that and he turned and passed Polly in the kitchen, avoiding the hard look she was giving him, heading through to the shop. John and Arthur were still there, sitting at the main middle desks, counting up the day's takings. Neither of them looking up when he came through the doors.

"Well?" he asked, his cigarette hanging out the side of his mouth after a few moments of silence.

"Well - you're failing at getting new business in Tommy," Arthur growled.

He raised an eyebrow.

"We know it's like this every Christmas Arthur," John said, "People ain't got no money for betting when their wives are wanting duck on the table."

Arthur grunted in response.

"Where's Ada? Saw Finn out on the street, didn't see her," Tommy asked, attempting to change the subject – he needed whatever was going on between him and Arthur to stop, especially if his brother was going to insist on going around putting knives in the hands of girls, albeit capable seeming girls, without anyone telling him.

"Fuck should I know?" Arthur snapped, "Do I look like her fucking keeper? Ask Polly."

"Christ Arthur, I take one fucking afternoon off and you let her disappear," he snapped back.

"Let who disappear?" Rosie asked, clearly having decided to follow him through.

Tommy glared at her and blew out a stream of smoke, "That bloody sister of mine."

"Where's the sister of mine?" she asked, coming into the room properly, glancing around.

"She went to put that dress up in her room," John replied, "You'd think it was spun of solid gold from the way she looks at it – asked Arthur if his hands were clean before he could touch it."

Rosie grinned and rolled her eyes, "Your hands ever been clean Arthur?"

Tommy moved his eyes from her to his brother, ready to intervene if need be, but to his surprise Arthur's frown lifted slightly – almost to a smile.

"Our hands can't all be pristine like yours love," Arthur replied.

"Like mine indeed," she snorted, coming to stand beside him at the desk.

"She used that knife you gave her today Arthur," Tommy said, letting his brother know that he knew.

"Don't exaggerate," she rolled her eyes at him, "I threatened to use it, I didn't use it."

"Well done Rosie girl, who'd you go for?" John asked, smiling from ear to ear.

So obviously John had known about it - he wasn't sure if he was pleased that she was close enough to his brothers to have them all making decisions like her acquiring knives without him or if he was annoyed about it.

"Harrison – he was rude about my hair," she told him.

John snorted, "Rude about your hair so you pulled a knife on him – bloody women!"

"Be warned lads, this bloody woman wants to run all men off the face of the earth – and apparently we Shelby's have decided to arm her to let her do it," Tommy said with a smirk.

She snorted, "You know a lot of people would say you Shelby's are the worst of all men, but if I was choosing any men to keep around it might be you lot."

Arthur grinned up at her and John gave her a friendly punch on the arm.

"I'm sorry, was that a compliment?" Tommy asked, feigning shock.

"Oh, don't you get used to it Tommy Shelby," she replied, smirking, "I'm just being warm hearted because it's so close to Christmas. And Ada was going up The Cut to go skating with everyone else after school so stop your worrying."

"It'll take more than you to make me stop worrying about Ada," he replied with a grimace, "And it's late, she should be home before now no matter what she's doing."

"What about Ada?" came Ada's voice, the back door slamming as she appeared in the double doorway - wearing that ridiculous coat she'd got for her birthday.

"Your brother worries about you," Rosie called over her shoulder.

The two girls exchanged looks, though he couldn't see what the redhead's face was doing as it was turned away from him.

"How was skating Ada?" he asked her pointedly.

"The ice wasn't thick enough for skating on The Cut, but maybe next week," she replied, coming over to gather around the desk with them.

"Next week indeed?" Rosie grinned, flicking her eyebrows.

"Yes," Ada replied, widening her eyes conspiratorially at the girl, "Next week."

"A Merry Christmas for you then," Rosie said.

"Hopefully," Ada giggled, "Did Lily get the dress?"

"She did," Rosie nodded, "Big poufy thing, awful really – you'll probably love it."

"Is it upstairs?"

"Uhuh."

"Show it to me?" Ada said, pushing off the table and heading to the stairs, her eyes on Rosie's.

The redhead grinned and nodded, "Alright then," and followed Ada, the two of them pulling various faces at each other, Ada snorting with laughter the whole way up the stairs.

The three brothers exchanged looks, disbelief in John and Arthur's eyes, annoyance in Tommy's.

"Tells me not to worry about Ada then makes it perfectly clear there's plenty going on with Ada I should be worrying about," Tommy growled, his eyes on the spot on the stairs where they had disappeared, "As if she gives a toss about showing Ada that dress."

"At some point you need to trust her a bit Tom," John said.

Tommy stubbed out his cigarette. He didn't need John's advice on how to raise their sister.

"Speaking of trust," he said, his eyes meeting Arthur's.

His older brother raised an eyebrow at him.

"I've been working on new business, just been putting my efforts into the business that makes the real money."

"Is that right Tom?"

"Yeah Arthur, it is. And I've got a buyer for motorbikes, so I need some of our men that we trust in the BSA factory. Get it organised for them to come to Charlie's yard tomorrow night to get their orders, eh? Tell them there's enough in it that they can give their wives all the fucking ducks they want on their tables this Christmas with the assurance January will have a nice bonus in it if they deliver."


	23. Chapter 23

Tommy put his foot down when it came to Lily attending midnight mass on Christmas Eve with Polly – decreeing that a good night's sleep was essential before what he knew would be a long and tiring day for the six-year-old. She had been fraught with excitement the entire week before the day itself had even arrived and he rather imagined that, once Christmas Day had come and was done, she’d need to go to bed early every night for a month to make up for all the hours she had spent waking and thinking of Father Christmas and presents when she should have been sleeping in the first place.

Lily's non-attendance meant by proxy that Rosie was also excused – which she seemed quite grateful for. He felt the warm glow of domestication again when he helped Lily to lay a plate with a mince pie and carrot alongside a glass of whisky down by the fire for Father Christmas before Rosie took her off to bed. By the time the older sister come back down, he had finished the mince pie and the whisky, and she snorted that it would be typical of him to leave the nutritious part of the offering for someone else, so he whacked her over the head with the part in question, then ate half the thing just to make her take her words back – which she didn't, just rolling her eyes at him instead. He sat with her a while before going to the Garrison with Arthur, disappointed when he returned to find she had already gone up to bed too.

Lily had them awake before dawn the next morning – eager to ensure they'd been right, and that Father Christmas would know where she'd moved to.

Alongside sweets – boxed and not from Harrison's, he noted, signed from Lily - Rosie bought him a fountain pen that he knew was far too expensive for her to have bought easily for him, but she waved off his protestations saying that he was a businessman and all businessmen should have a good pen to sign things with. He snorted and replied that given half his business was illegal he didn't often sign his name to much of it, but he appreciated that she had faith in him to turn it to something he'd sign to.

"What's illegal mean?" Lily asked.

Finn laughed as Rosie explained that it was a bit like Father Christmas coming in the night – it meant it wasn't something to be seen by most people. The child seemed unconvinced, her eyes drifting to Finn whose fit had taken over him, but her sister distracted her by asking her what she was going to call the family of dolls who were going to live in her new doll's house that Father Christmas had snuck down the chimney with. Tommy took the opportunity to give Finn a swift clip around the ear, which stopped the laughter for a minute and got him shot a rather indignant look.

In turn, Tommy had bought Rosie a three piece suit he'd had the tailor make especially for her – not entirely unlike his own suits but cut for her body - which she seemed quite taken with; and a cookbook, which he'd inscribed with the message ' _Women's business is women's business because men can't wrap their brains around it. Still not convinced your cooking isn't witchcraft. Merry Christmas, Tommy_.' He had agonised for far longer than he'd care to admit on what to write – or if he should write anything at all. He had been sad in a way not to sign the inscription ' _Merry Christmas, Love Tommy'_ but he figured was going to keep it in the kitchen and he didn't want his love written somewhere that could be so publicly accessed. Polly gave him enough pointed looks whenever they were all in a room together as it was.

He noticed the card she'd put on his had read ' _All my love, Rosie_.' He wondered if it was a declaration or merely a sign off, and unsuccessfully tried to read the card she'd put on the hair clips and shoes she'd bought Ada to compare it against, but before he could surreptitiously open it, Ada had bundled all her presents up and run off to her room with them to emerge wearing as many of her gifts as she could at any one time, which led to Lily insisting she wanted to take her pyjamas off and put her dress on – and that Ada should do her hair.

Ada was delighted at the idea and took Lily's hand to yank her off up the stairs. Finn and Rosie exchanged eye rolls at this, but she had gotten up from where she sat and declared that it was about time for her to get busy with the geese she was preparing for the family.

They had decided to clear out the shop and sit the adults around the long table they used for family meetings, open the doors and sit Lily and Finn, along with John's four, at the kitchen table. Finn hadn't seemed overly keen on the arrangement when it had been discussed but a raised eyebrow from Tommy had quietened his grumbling – the boy wasn't _entirely_ out of the usual compliant phase that followed a hiding. Yet.

After she'd done the prep work Rosie followed where Ada and Lily had gone, reappearing as he had expected, wearing trousers and a blouse that she'd worn before. She didn't seem to think Christmas Day was one to be any more fancied up on than any other day – but she was enthusiastic in her complimenting of Lily, telling her she looked like a princess in her dress, and elegant in her ability to hold her laughter as Ada tottered about in the heeled shoes, losing her balance and nearly falling over – more elegant than him, or indeed any of the rest of the family when they arrived.

"Goose and plum pudding," John said on arrival, as soon as Tommy opened the door, his nose identifying the smells like a bloodhound, "How come you have to live with Tommy, can't you come live in my house?"

"You never asked me, he got in there first," Rosie replied, coming over to stand beside Tommy at the door, his hand going around her absent-mindedly as she drew near.

"Got in there first, as if that's all there was to it," John replied, rolling his eyes.

Tommy frowned at him, then removed his hand from the redhead's waist when John pointedly looked at it and raised his eyebrow.

"Away and get a look at Ada trying to walk in her new shoes," he told his brother with a grin, as a means of distraction, whilst stuffing his hands in his pockets.

"Where's Lily?" Katie demanded from behind her father.

"Through in the shop with Ada," Rosie answered, standing back to let the girl head through, "Go have a look at Ada's shoes, they're lovely and these boys don't appreciate them."

Katie grinned up at her and ran by, not bothering to acknowledge him. 

His niece was only a little older than Lily – but they were both young enough that the three months or so between them was something they were very aware of. The awareness probably wasn't helped by the fact that, probably because John couldn't cope with Katie and the twins all being at home and needing looking after, Katie had started school earlier than she probably should have - earlier than Lily and was in the class above her. And Katie was tall and loud where Lily, like her sister, was petite - although she'd jabber away to them all, she wasn't boisterous the way Katie, the way all John’s four, were. It didn't seem to be too harmful though, in fact Lily seemed to admire the older girl. Katie for her part seemed very taken with having another girl around, being the only girl amongst John's kids and a good bit too young for Ada to be her true friend.

"Lovely indeed, I'm sure," John laughed.

"Oi, I bought her them John Shelby – and she likes them and that's the main thing," Rosie said, reaching out to smack John on the arm.

"Aye alright then, lovely they are then," John said, grabbing Rosie's waist himself, "Now you walk me through to this kitchen and tell me what lovely thing you've got ready for me to eat already."

Tommy was almost jealous for a moment at how easily John could grab her waist and no one would think anything of it – frowning as George and the twins, Jack and Alfie, came through the door behind their father.

Since Ada's birthday Tommy's resolve not to touch the redhead had waned and waned – but she didn't seem to mind. Nothing had happened – and nothing would happen, not when she was still at school anyway – but they both had slipped into a seemingly naturally tactile way with one another. Without discussing it, they were reasonably good at not being obvious with it when Polly was around – his aunt was far too happy to point it out – but when they were alone or with Lily his arm had gone around her a few times and her head had rested on his shoulder. And his arm found its way to her waist multiple times a day if he could manage it. She never shook him off either – and indeed her hand found its way to his arm or shoulder almost as many times. The truth was, that dance had crossed a line – and they both knew it. But they both knew that the line couldn't be crossed entirely yet and that there was a danger in going over it too soon.

Still, with the entire family around he kept his hands in check for the majority of the day - only brushing her fingers slightly when they passed things to one another, until after they had finished eating and she began to gather up the plates from their end of the table when he'd put his hand fully and firmly on her arm and told her to sit down.

"I'd rather just get them out the way Tommy," she said.

"They'll get out of the way – you made the food, you stay in your seat. Ada," he raised his voice to shout down the table, "You clear the table will you? Pile the dishes up by the sink, the kids can get them."

The kids looked up from their table, none of them looking enthused at his suggestion.

"The trays are in the sink soaking off, the kids won't be able to scrub them hard enough they'll be covered in goose fat," Rosie said, shaking her head and going to stand again.

"I'll get them, you stay sat," Polly said, scraping her own chair back.

"Polly you do enough," Rosie protested.

Polly gave her a hard look and said, "This has been the most relaxing Christmas I've had in my life, keep yourself in that bloody chair and let me do the bloody trays. Charlie, will you get water from out back and put it on the range to heat?"

His Uncle Charlie nodded and got to his feet, passing his plate across to Ada.

"Here! If Charlie's not going to eat that roast potato give it here," John said, stretching his hand out.

Ada pulled a face and passed him the plate, which he cleaned off in an instant.

"You've eaten your dinner, then pudding and now you're eating a cold roast potato John boy – ya hungry?" Arthur asked with a grin.

"Love a roast potato Arthur," John replied, his mouth still full, "Can't make them myself. Tried once. Ended up filthy and burnt them."

"You need a woman," Arthur replied, shaking his head and swigging at his whisky.

"Aye well, Tommy took the one who makes the best roast potatoes," John said.

"Don't start that again," Arthur growled, rolling his eyes, "It's Christmas."

Tommy caught the girl's eye as she laughed, and he shook his head but smiled in spite of himself.

"Look at him smiling," John crowed, "Rosie girl don't you be going anywhere, he's been much more bearable since you arrived."

Tommy raised an eyebrow and John shook his head, rolled his eyes and amended, "Or your cooking anyway. Maybe that was it all along, he was just hungry and he didn't know how to make roast potatoes either."

"Maybe," Tommy replied, rolling his own eyes.

"Glad to be of service," she said with a smirk.

He squeezed her arm where his hand still rested, then let go before the alcohol in his brother prompted him to draw attention to it, diving into his pocket to retrieve a cigarette to busy his hands with instead.

"Oh, I wouldn't take that off my little chicken, if you're going to help with the dishes you'll need it to protect that pretty dress," Charlie's voice carried down, catching Rosie's attention.

She glanced up to where Lily was standing in the kitchen, struggling to remove the pinafore her older sister had fastened around her before she had sat down for her food.

"I can't reach the sink Uncle Charlie," the girl said, her voice muffled as she tried to pull it over her head, pulling at the layers of tulle underskirts as she did so.

"If Lily isn't helping I'm not helping," Katie declared, folding her arms.

John rolled his eyes but didn't intervene.

Tommy frowned, "John, are you even trying to keep your kids from running rings around you anymore?"

His brother sighed, "It's fucking Christmas, I'd like one bloody day without an argument."

"Lily you stop trying to take that off, you'll rip that lovely dress the way you're going," Polly said from over by the sink, where she was drying off the trays that had been soaking, "And you'll be doing your bit Katie, my hairbrush is in my bag and I'll get it out and give you a good reason to help if need be."

"It's Christmas Aunt Polly!" Katie exclaimed, squirming in her chair at the threat.

"Yeah it is Christmas – so you got a whole lot of presents this morning and you've come here and had a much better meal than your usual, so the least you can do is do some dishes Katie," Tommy called over, pointing the cigarette in Katie's direction.

"Well what's my Daddy doing?" she asked, attempting defiance.

"Your Daddy and Uncle Arthur and I – as well as your Aunt Polly and Uncle Charlie too – work every day to make the money that paid for the food. Rosie cooked it all for you, Ada cleared the table – those of you whose names haven't been said and who can reach the sink can wash and rinse the dishes and the little ones," his eyes moved to Lily, who had smoothed her dress and its covering back down at Polly's command, "Can dry them once they're washed. Sound fair?"

Katie nodded, but her face still held a scowl. He decided to leave it there though, turning his attention back to his cigarette.

The whole matter came to a head though when his niece, evidently still not happy, threw the dishes she was supposed to be rinsing into the basin of cold water so hard that she smashed quite a few of them. Everyone's heads turned to the kitchen as the cracks were heard and the girl's guilty face looked back at them, her eyes flying to Polly's. Tommy looked to John, but John stared at resolutely at the table - the only adult assembled who wasn't looking to the kitchen.

"Right," Polly muttered, getting to her feet, grabbing the girl and sitting down again at the kitchen table, pulling Katie over her knee and proceeding to bring her hand down on the girl's rear. It wasn't particularly hard or long as spankings went, which all the Shelby's assembled knew, but Lily had frozen and shoved her fingers in her mouth, tears welling up in her eyes even though Katie's "I'm sorry – Jesus! – let me up Aunt Pol – I'll didn't mean to smash the dishes, I'll be more careful!" were farbmore grouchy than remorseful and her own eyes remained dry.

"Don't make me change my mind about leaving that hairbrush in my bag," Polly told Katie as she put the girl back on her feet.

"I won't," Katie snapped, still glaring but directing it to the floor now rather than round at anyone else.

"You need to do something about her attitude John – you saw the way it went with Ada, get it nipped in the bud now," Tommy sighed, his eyes still, like Rosie's, on Lily - waiting to see whether she would go back to drying the dishes now that it was over or if she needed someone to go to her.

Ada heard and he saw her turn and glare at him from the corner of his eye, but he didn't acknowledge her.

"Ah it did ya good Ada, stop yer fizzlin' face," Arthur commented.

She started to say something but Tommy cut her off with a look – he was watching the scene in the kitchen and didn't want her distracting him from judging what Lily needed in that moment.

"What's wrong with you?" Katie asked Lily when she eventually raised her eyes slightly off the ground.

"She's overwhelmed," Finn replied, handing Katie some of the dishes he'd scrubbed so she could rinse them.

Tommy smiled slightly at Finn's vague attempt at sticking up for Lily.

"What's that?" Katie asked him.

Finn shrugged.

"Well it wasn't you that got spanked," Katie said then, raising her voice slightly, "And on Christmas day too!"

"I don't know of any rules that say bad attitudes on Christmas day should be dealt with the following day," Polly returned.

"Lily doesn't get spankings," Finn told Katie.

"Why not?" she asked, wrinkling her nose and taking a step away from Lily, as if Finn had declared she had some infectious disease.

Finn just shrugged again, and Lily cried harder.

"Lily you come down here to me bab," Tommy called out to her at the increased ferocity of tears and she turned and ran to him, suddenly sobbing her heart out.

"Hey, you give me those fingers Lily," Rosie cooed at her sister, tugging gently at the hand Lily had practically swallowed once Tommy had settled her on his lap, "Come on, that's a good girl."

"She doesn't get spanked because she's a cry baby who chews her fingers," Jack grinned over at Alfie as they continued to dry the dishes they'd been assigned.

"Oi, the last time we were all here George went out the back with yer dad, now Katie's been over yer Aunt Polly's knee, I reckon the next turn's one of yours with me," Arthur growled up at them, his own hand reaching over to pat Lily's arm.

"I bet she doesn't get spanked cause they like her better," Katie muttered, loudly enough that they heard her.

"Aye well she's nicer than you," John shouted down the table.

"For goodness sake John, away and tell your kids there's no one you love more than them in the bloody world," Rosie snapped up at him, her hand still in Lily's wet one.

John looked quite taken aback – Rosie was docile most of the time around his brothers, she'd poke fun at him for their amusement - but it had always been nothing more than a bit of fun and she'd never spoken sharply to them. His brother moved his eyes to Tommy’s own face, clearly wondering if he was going to intervene, and then back to hers, only for her to raise an eyebrow at him.

Tommy caught Uncle Charlie's eye and the two of them smothered their smiles – him in Lily's hair, Charlie in a glass of whisky.

"Christ Tommy, she's as bad as you with that eyebrow raisin'," John said, speaking to him but his eyes still on her.

He could practically see the cogs whirling in John's mind as he processed the look she was giving him and tried to decide how to respond. He rather imagined this was exactly what Polly had been on about when she'd declared that she'd have spanked the girl in Rackham's that day if she'd been any other fifteen-year-old but that she had that disconcerting look in her eye.

"Well she read books on children at the library so she's probably right – away and tell them," Tommy said, before his brother could come to any conclusions on his response, "And tell them they won't sit if they don't improve their bloody attitudes while you're at it."

John sighed and slammed his hand down on the table but pushed himself to his feet.

"Don't be moanin' John boy, we knew this would happen when Tommy said she had brains – it was only gon be so long before we had another one you and me was takin' orders from," Arthur grinned.

"Arthur," Tommy warned.

His older brother continued to grin, "Ah don't worry Tom – I prefer not thinkin' anyway – it's easier."

Arthur downed his glass and reached for the bottle. Tommy exchanged a glance with Rosie, who busied herself with Lily again in response. Arthur was drunk – and pleasantly so. He probably wouldn't be so happy to admit what he had when he was sober.

"One thing taking orders from him, even Pol, another from a girl," John muttered, but he was walking up to the kitchen, "Don't you be gettin' any ideas Ada."

Tommy didn't have the energy to take note of what Ada said in return, or what John was saying to his children, he was far too concerned with calming Lily down – though she seemed to have sobbed herself out and was now hiccupping and gasping to get back in control of herself, her whole body shaking with the effort.

He jiggled her on his knee for a bit, growling the words of an old nursery rhyme as musically as he could to her.

"What's that you're saying Tom?" Arthur asked.

"Trying to remember the words of that horse song mum used to do, but can't remember half of them," Tommy told him, avoiding his eye.

"Ride a cock horse to Banbury cross, to see a fine lady upon a white horse," Arthur suddenly bellowed, slapping his hand on the table to the tune.

Lily winced and Tommy frowned at his brother, rubbing her back.

"Arthur, I don't know that that's the most soothing of singing voices," Rosie pointed out diplomatically.

"Aye, right you are sister," Arthur said, seemingly without considering that Rosie was not, in fact, his sister, "I liked that song when we were little."

Tommy buried his face in Lily's head so he didn't have to control any expressions as he processed his brother's words. He knew he was bloody soft on the baby – and he knew Polly thought her insufficiently disciplined because of it - but it was somewhat reassuring to hear his older brother declare he had liked a song rather than die laughing over Tommy trying to sing to the child.

Rosie picked up the tune, taking her sister's hand and jiggling it as she sang, "To see a fine lady upon a white horse, rings on her fingers and bells on her toes and she shall have music wherever she goes."

"I didn't know you could sing!" Ada accused her – as though it was something Rosie should have told her along with her name, "Sing us a carol!"

Rosie shook her head, flushing slightly, "I don't sing – I just do tunes for Lily when she's going to bed or upset because she likes them."

"Tommy likes them too!" Lily said, having finally stopped her hiccupping that had followed the tears and regaining control over her voice.

He felt Rosie's eyes on him, "Does he indeed?"

"Yeah," Lily nodded, looking up at him, "Don't you?"

"That was a secret Lily," he smiled down at her.

"I didn't know," she said, biting her lip.

"Ah that's alright Lily, I'm sure she'd have found out eventually," he said, kissing the girl's head – it didn't seem that a freshly settled child was one to upset any further.

"Lily why don't you go back and help the twins with the rest of the drying," Polly interjected.

Tommy frowned at her and she frowned back, as Lily nestled closer to his chest.

"Lily do you want to go for a nap?" Rosie asked her gently.

The girl pushed even further into Tommy, looking up at him and shaking her head – though he imagined she could probably well use a nap, she’d worn herself out with her excitement and he figured now it was all catching up with her.

"Well if you're staying I think it's a good idea for you to go back and finish off the drying," Rosi pressed her sister, her eyes going to his.

"She's been upset," he frowned at her, unsure why she was siding with his aunt.

"Yes, she has been – and now she's fine, so she can go join in with the rest of them," Polly said firmly.

Tommy stood up, resting the child on his hip, turning an icy stare on the sister and his aunt in turn.

"Lily why don't we go show Arthur the new dolls house Father Christmas brought you? You can introduce him to the other Arthur."

"Oh I got something named after me did I?" Arthur said, delighted.

Lily nodded and Tommy walked through the shop and kitchen, ignoring the eyes of John and his brood on him as he passed them and headed into the front room, Arthur stumbling along behind him.

The rest of the day reminded Tommy a bit of when Lily and Rosie had first arrived – the way Lily had followed him around, hiding behind his leg to avoid other people looking at her. She didn't go back to play with Katie and even after John bundled his lot back to their own house she wouldn't leave the sofa where he and Rosie sat – only moving when she was clambering between the two of them.

Arthur passed out in his office when he went in for a lie down and Charlie left before that, but he could tell Polly was hanging around for something – and he'd really prefer if she would just leave so he could enjoy the rest of Christmas Day in peace.

When Lily dozed off on Tommy's lap, after determinedly insisting that she wasn't tired, Rosie took the opportunity to gather her up and carry her off to bed – and Polly took the opportunity whilst Finn was still outside playing with his friends and Ada had gone upstairs to play records and organise all her new things to say what she had to say.

"You're doing that baby no favours Thomas, treating her differently."

"I don't treat her differently."

"Yes you do – you're soft with her."

"So are we all."

"Yeah, but you're too soft with her," his aunt replied sternly.

He ignored her and lit a cigarette.

"I'm not going to go on about it because I won't leave you in bad feeling on Christmas day – but you're driving a wedge between her and the other kids," Polly continued, realising he was ignoring her, "If you want her to be part of this family you need to treat her like every other kid in it – or they won't accept her, and she'll know she's not accepted."

"Well I'm glad you've stuck around all day to say that Polly," he quipped sarcastically.

"Oh, I'm taking my leave now so you and that girl you insist nothing is going on with can be left alone, don't you worry!" his aunt snapped at him, "And whilst the two of you are doing nothing together maybe you could ask her her thoughts on it, because she's noticed as much as me that that baby runs to you to get her out of doing anything she doesn't want to do or when anyone else is firm with her. I know it feels nice Thomas, believe me, I like a baby as much as the next Shelby – but you'll leave her feeling lost and unsure of herself if you don't establish her boundaries with her. Children need the security of knowing what they can and can't get away with."

"Polly - did you notice that that baby started crying when someone else got a spanking that didn't even make them cry?" he snapped.

"I did Thomas – which is why I left off Katie sooner than I probably should have. But that's normal – don't you remember bawling your eyes out when you were little and Arthur was for it? Even when it was nothing to do with you, the general feeling of upset in a house will upset a child whether they're involved or not."

Tommy glared at her. He didn't remember bawling his eyes out, as she put it, over anything except his own rear end from time to time but he wasn't going to argue it with her.

"Didn't see Jack or Alfie crying – or George or Finn."

"Because they're used to it!"

He rolled his eyes, "Apart from anything else Polly - Katie's got an attitude problem, Lily doesn't – I've checked her a few times on her tone and she's stopped using the one I didn't like."

His aunt snorted at that, "Stopped using it till she does it again and gets told off again you mean. That's what children do Thomas, they repeat and repeat and push and push until it's made clear to them where they can push to. You were easy on Ada growing up – but not this easy. And you were never this clueless with Finn."

"Well Finn's a boy – I know how a boy's mind works."

"At that age a girl's mind works just the same way and don't you doubt it."

"Polly if I want your advice on raising babies I'll come ask you for it."

"You should have asked before now Thomas,” she snapped, “You're being led by a fifteen-year-old who has never had an example of a decent mother around her and who learned from a book. I watched your mother with Arthur and you and John, I had two of my own for a while, I've been there for John's four and for Ada and Finn – and I looked after them alone when you boys were at war. There's a whole lot to be said for hands on experience of raising children!"

Yeah, you _had_ two of your own Polly. It came to him in a flash, but he managed to stop himself from saying it – he knew she'd never forgive him if he did. The momentary pause to consider it made him consider what she was saying – and why. She meant well - he knew that.

"Right, Polly – I'll think on it, alright?" he offered, softening his tone slightly.

"You see that you do Thomas!" she snapped, not softening hers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kudos, I do very much appreciate it when I see it coming my way!


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahead of this chapter just wanted to clarify that the expression 'green dress/green gown' is a historical term that implies a woman's dress is grass stained from rolling around in it during 'sexual activity'. Not very commonly used anymore so wanted to take the time so explain! Thank you for reading, commenting and leaving kudos - it's all very much appreciated!

The bike order couldn't be carried off until mid-January and the shop was half empty most days. The men who were desperate to bet just after Christmas were generally doing it with what little money their families had to survive January and half the time Tommy would send them away, refusing to accept their business. He didn't reckon he was actually doing much good – he was sure they'd find other places to go – but it wouldn't be on his fucking conscience.

Rosie watched him do it a few times, but she didn't say anything to rebuke him – even though it was bread from her mouth and Lily's he was taking. But he never asked her what she thought, and she never volunteered – just as he never volunteered his explanation.

Still, they could survive a while with no income from the shop - the protection money came in as usual and they had done well in the run up to Christmas in intercepting a lot of deliveries – their warehouses were stocked for when buyers were ready, and no matter how hard times were there were always buyers for cigarettes and bottles of whisky at knocked off prices. And it would all pick up again at the end of January, it was just a grey month for everyone.

The two Jacksons at number 6 Watery Lane meant that January was much less grey for Tommy than it usually was – and the empty shop meant Polly was away earlier and earlier each day, sometimes not even sticking around for dinner, which Rosie had started to take over most nights. He had had no intention of letting her do that when he'd proposed the arrangement to her in the first place, so it half bothered him – but, selfishly, the pros outweighed the cons. For a start, he was able to give her a food allowance that she couldn't argue him out of and, for another thing, the sight of her in the kitchen gave him a warm feeling in his stomach. She was like a shot of expensive whisky that didn't burn on the way down and that provided a glow that lasted, without the headache. He was especially aware of that glow when she stared intently at the instructions in the book he'd got her for Christmas and she'd wrinkle her already slightly wonky nose up in concentration – that nose wrinkle made his stomach rotate like it was on a roasting spit in a fire, never mind warm. And of course, her being in the kitchen meant that he could faff about around her – either pretending to help her and Lily, whilst being aware he was probably more hindrance than help, but she didn't seem to mind, or if he was working he could throw the doors open between the shop and the kitchen and they could talk as they each worked their own domain.

Sober Arthur didn't seem to remember what he'd admitted on Christmas day and was taking the quiet period as a time to heckle Tommy's effectiveness, and the result was that Tommy often found himself irritable. It was Rosie who calmed him, the majority of the time, but there were certain topics that no one could calm him from and the communist issue was one. They were getting louder, more confident – people's desperation post-Christmas was being exploited – and Tommy bristled every time he thought of the commies taking people's donations for their bloody cause when he was telling them to keep their money and go home. Maybe he was going soft.

Or maybe he just had a moral fucking code that the communists didn't. Fucking glorious revolution – what was that to the individuals of Small Heath if they couldn't feed their kids for the week?

His mother had done a good job at hiding their poverty from them when they were little, she was able to convince them somehow that running around barefoot was much more exciting than running around in shoes and no matter what their father did with the majority of the money she'd make sure they didn't go to bed hungry – unless she was decreeing they were to go to bed hungry as a result of some bit of behaviour she didn't like. It was only now he really could appreciate how little they'd had growing up – and how hard her job had been.

One time, one other January, she'd sent him to the shop for margarine, eggs and bread – he hadn't come back with any of them. He'd spent the sixpence she'd given him alright, but on the things he, as a child, had deemed more worthwhile. His mother hadn't agreed with his judgement and she'd beat him – it was the only real time he'd claim his mother had ever beat him. His mother had been sharp enough with them, and quick with her hands when she needed to be right enough. But, whilst every child in Birmingham probably thought themselves the most strictly and stringently disciplined - and the Shelby's were no exception - it was looking back on it now that he could clearly see that – whilst he was sure there'd been times she'd been only too happy to throw them over her knee for whatever grief they'd caused her – she'd never really lost her temper or lost control with them, other than that time. She'd had a frying pan in her hand and she'd brought it down on whatever inch of him she could each, blackening his body as he'd thrown his arms over his head to shield himself from her. The truth was, he hadn't thought overmuch on it at the time – he knew it was different to what any of them usually caught from her, but it wasn't much worse than half of what went on in other houses as standard and he'd had worse from his father.

It was only looking back now he could realise that what he'd thought was rage in her eyes had been desperation and fear – that was all the money they'd had for the week and their father had fucked off somewhere and his mother would have had nothing else to feed them with. It was what Rosie had said though – what were the options for women? And this was when he was young, before the war – there had been even less options for them then. It was almost surprising that his mother had never turned to whoring. He suspected his Uncle Charlie had stepped in on more occasions than any of them would have realised – as he definitely had done that week.

It was only looking back now that he could realise that those weeks she'd taken them off in the wagon – the weeks she'd painted to them as an adventure where they could leave school – were probably fuelled by a desire not to be around when someone came looking for money or the fact it was simpler – and cheaper – to make them find wood to build fires with and eat what they could hunt rather than having to find money to run the house for the week.

Yeah, his mother had had a hard fucking time of it – and he hadn't realised, none of them had realised – because she was so good at hiding it from them.

That was the thing – him and Freddie. They'd grown up side by side, Freddie's mother Irene had been on her own too – Freddie's father had had the decency to die though, he hadn't abandoned his wife and son by choice, not like their father had chosen to do. They'd come from the same poverty, the same education, the same life and the same war. They'd both waited for the cavalry.

But Freddie had come back with a renewed faith in the communist cause. There, Freddie saw a way out.

All Tommy saw there now was men like Freddie - men who needed to feel like they were worth something because the war had stripped them from themselves – and they were so lacking in their own worth that finding a new cause to martyr themselves to was their only chance of keeping themselves tethered to this life.

But this cause was up against the cavalry – and Tommy had realised, you couldn't work against the cavalry. Individuals, yes. But not the lot of them, not as a unit. You just had to work around them. The communist cause was fucking doomed as far as he was concerned. And if Freddie wanted to tie himself to it so he could feel rooted in something then so be it – he'd lose his friend. But he wouldn't lose his family to it, he wanted them nowhere near it, because he knew what the odds were. Safehouses were only required for people who couldn't walk the streets normally, and they were only safe as long as people didn't find them out. And they'd always get found out.

And that was how he felt normally about communists – but added to the idea that he was turning away money that could feed his family, only for some of it to end up in the collections of communists so they could send the war pensions of widows and the bread money of children to Russia – to fucking Russia - at the cost of his family, as he saw it – that meant his patience for communism was currently the lowest it had ever been.

"What are you up to my little love?" he asked Lily as he came through the front door one evening, shutting it quietly behind him.

There was raucous laughter coming through from the kitchen.

"Do mine Polly, go on," Rosie's voice floated through.

"Drawing," Lily replied, smiling up at him.

He came to crouch by where she was lying spread out on the floor, crayons and papers all around her, "What you drawing?"

"Trying to do a horse, but Arthur is better at them," she said, showing him her crude picture.

"Arthur's had more time to practise, this is good Lily, better than Arthur was when he was your age – you just keep practising," he said, smiling down at her, stroking her head as she went back to scribbling.

"Right, now swirl the teacup," Polly's voice said.

Tea leaves being read indeed. Tommy rolled his eyes. Polly had something he couldn't put his finger on – and he didn't deny that she'd predicted the sex of every baby born in the family correctly, or that she did seem to know when any of the kids was up to something they shouldn't be even when they weren't at home – but tea leaf readings were the sort of nonsense he was used to his father pretending to be able to do to trick people out of their cash.

"Now think about the man you love," Polly instructed and Tommy's ears pricked up in spite of himself, "Think about your white wedding gown."

"What if I'd rather have a green gown and sod the white one?" Rosie replied, laughing.

Ada gasped then giggled and Polly snorted. He frowned and glanced down at Lily, but the child was drawing obliviously – thankfully. Bloody green gowns. He'd give her a green gown for her trouble. And then he realised what he'd just thought and felt his face flush a little.

"Just think about the future you want with this man," Polly said, mirth still in her voice.

"Right, right, I've thought about it – with this nameless and as yet unidentified man," Rosie replied.

"Aye right that he's nameless and unidentified, you've a cheek to say anything to me about how I should just hurry it up and get on with my man," Ada replied.

"Well you're happier, right?" Rosie asked.

"According to my tea leaves I'm on the right track," Ada said, giggling again.

He really needed to get to the bottom of what was going on with Ada - just to check that she was alright, if nothing else. He trusted Rosie's judgement a little more than he trusted Ada's, but he trusted his own most of all when it came to judging other males.

"Pour the tea back into the pot," Polly said, cackling herself like a right old gypsy witch.

Tommy patted the back of Lily's head one last time and came to stand, lighting a cigarette and settling back in one of the chairs, his attention swivelled through to the door to listen to what Polly had to say about Rosie's future with an unnamed and unidentified man – not obviously that he put any store by tea leaf readings. Not at all.

"Interesting," Polly commented.

"What is it Aunt Pol?" Ada asked.

"Your unnamed man is going to be very devoted."

"Sure," Rosie said with a snort.

"He already is in fact, as unnamed and unidentified as he is - he's identified you. At least to himself."

Ada shrieked with laughter, but Rosie didn't say anything - though he could imagine her raising her eyebrows at them both.

Polly clicked her tongue, "Uhuh – and you'll get a green dress alright, but there's a white one too."

Tommy's heart tightened at that.

"I don't want a white dress - I'll just look fatter than normal in white," Rosie replied.

Tommy rolled his eyes. Fat indeed. She was all curves and softness admittedly, not all lines and angles, but the padding was where it should be on a woman, in his humble opinion. Nothing fat about her - her waist was about the span of his hand for Christs' sake, and as for anywhere else - well, he had two hands for a good reason.

"Well you'll wear it – but it seems there's a red right hand in your future before you get either dress."

"A what?" Rosie asked.

"Yep. More than one, actually."

"Let me see," Ada said, probably grabbing at the cup from Polly.

"What does that mean Polly? Red for communists?"

Tommy's brow knitted. What did it bloody mean? And he'd seen Freddie Thorne skulking around again today and he'd had as much of communists as he was willing to bear in any given day.

"I don't even know any communists except for Freddie, how can I have more than one red hand if I only know one communist?" Rosie asked.

He threw down the cigarette and strode through to the kitchen, flashing his eyes at her. The three women jumped when he entered, clearly having been too embroiled in their tea leaves to have heard him come in.

He grabbed her chin and yanked it up, pressing on it hard.

"How do you know Freddie Thorne?" he growled at her.

She blinked up at him, then narrowed and widened her eyes, trying to assess what was going on, but he didn't change his face, just glared down at her.

"Just – just from around," she eventually struggled out.

"Just from around eh?"

"Tommy," Ada started to say, but he silenced her with a look, not loosening his grip on the redhead, whom he turned his eyes back to.

"Let me make this quite clear," he said, speaking slowly, keeping his voice low, "You don't talk to Freddie Thorne. You don't interact with Freddie Thorne. You see him coming – you cross the fucking street, got it?"

He pressed on her chin and she gave a slight nod – as much as she could nod against his hold.

"That goes for every communist in fucking England, do you understand?"

"Yes Tommy," she whispered.

"If I see you anywhere near any communist I will make you rue the fucking day you arrived on this earth, you got it?"

"Yes."

"Good," he said, his eyes searching her face for a moment, then he released her and nodded.

He drew himself up, and she widened her eyes at him – asking him what the fuck that had been about. But he wasn't going to explain it to her – all she needed to do was remember what he'd told her and abide by it. She tried, later, and on days following to draw him into it – but he wouldn't explain it then either. That was a discussion he wasn't going to have and he was thankful when she left it alone.


	25. Chapter 25

One of the things he appreciated about Rosie was her ability to realise when to let something go – she seemed instinctively able to judge when he really wasn't willing to discuss something, like the communist issue, in a way that Ada never seemed able to judge. But she was also good at sniffing out when something was bothering him – and good at knowing, seemingly better than he did himself, when pushing him to talk about something would make him feel better. And at knowing what to say to make him feel better. He did half wonder if she had a touch of something in her, like Finn had thought, that let her read people. Something she didn't learn from a book.

He lifted Lily up onto his hip and pulled his coat around her as best he could, rubbing his hand up and down her woollen socks to try and create some friction and heat for her. It was cold, and Rosie was late coming out from the shop across the road – but Ada was staying with a friend for the night, Finn was staying with Isaiah and Polly had disappeared as soon as he had appeared in the house. He imagined his aunt was trying to do him a favour, but he wouldn't have minded if she had stayed a while so he could have left Lily at home rather than drag her out in the snow.

He was fairly sure she'd have been fine if he had left her in the front room for the sake of the half hour or so it took him to walk to the shop and walk back with Rosie – he knew she'd been home alone plenty of times when Rosie had been at work before she'd come to live with them – but it just didn't sit entirely right with him. It was the same reason he insisted on Finn being walked to and from school, it just seemed to him they were both too vulnerable to be left on their own. John let George and Katie walk to school alone – and laughed at Tommy – _"Tommy mate what's going to happen to them on the way to school? You reckon people are after kids these days?"_ \- but he didn't particularly care. If John wanted to be reckless that was John's choice.

Rosie appeared eventually, wrapping the scarf he'd bought her around her neck and crossed over to them, one gloved hand going to the back of Lily's head as she tip-toed to kiss her sister hello and one resting casually on his chest to balance herself as she did so. He was never going to be the kind of person who kissed people in public, but there was almost a part of him that was annoyed he didn't get kissed hello too. Instead she stood back and stuffed her hands in her pockets, smiling over the scarf at him. Her smile was genuine, but he could see how tired she was.

"How was work?" he asked her.

She rolled her eyes, "Busy – men moaning about their wives moaning and how their cigarettes are their only pleasure and the wives in moaning that their men are spending all the money on gambling and drinking as if it's not just been Christmas."

"Sounds joyful."

"Aye – and now everyone knows where I live they all seem to think I can do something about the gambling," she replied, slightly crossly.

"Do they say that?"

"Not directly, but I can tell that's what they're getting at."

"What do you say?"

"I don't say anything," she shrugged, "I've half thought about saying it's not Shelby gambling they're doing because you keep sending them away even when the shop's half empty half the time, but I figure that's not my place to say."

He knew she'd seen him do it, but she'd never acknowledged it.

"Does it worry you?" he asked her.

She smiled up at him, "No – I think it's a good thing that you send them away," then she moved her eyes back to the street in front of them, "Even though I know it worries you."

There it was. She was tired, she'd had a busy day and still she wanted to bring up was that she knew he was worried.

"We'll be fine for a while, there's plenty of money coming in elsewhere," he replied, shifting Lily round to his front so she could wrap herself around his waist and keep both her legs in his coat

"I know – I trust you Thomas. You just need to trust yourself and stop letting Arthur get to you," she said. The words made something bloom in his chest. But she didn't linger on them, or wait for him to respond, she simply smiled at her sister and said, "You nice and warm in Tommy's coat?"

Lily nodded and burrowed her head against his chest, her face pointing to her sister.

"I put extra coal on the fire before we left so the house will be warm – and the bath water's heating too, probably be too warm when we first get back."

"I'll do dinner first anyway, then I'll scrub that little midden – has your Aunt Polly been letting you paint again? It's all in your hair," she said with a grin to Lily, who giggled and nodded as Rosie reached up and tugged lightly at the green and blue strands on the blonde head.

"No need for you to be cooking, we're going for fish and chips," he replied.

"Oh Tommy don't be silly, that's expensive," she said, shaking her head, "And I've got all the bits for a stew."

"Make the stew on Monday, you've been working all day, you look dead on your feet."

"Cheers Thomas."

"Well you do, doesn't she Lily? Your sister needs a nice relaxing night and that's what she'll get – helped by the fact that Ada won't be in to make a racket all night and Finn's staying with Isaiah. Just us tonight Lily - and fish and chips for tea, how does that sound?"

The baby nodded.

"Tommy there's loads of food in the house – and the veg won't keep till Monday, it's needing used – I swear since it got around that we moved I pay for what I ask for when I buy food then get home and there's double what I paid for."

He smirked, "Benefits of being a Shelby."

She rolled her eyes, "Well it's immoral to waste food."

"Immoral," he snorted.

"It is."

"Alright then," he said, shifting his hold on Lily so he could reach over to squeeze the older sister's waist and rubbing her back a little, "How about for a compromise we have fish and chips tonight then tomorrow you can make the stew and we'll take it over to John's and let that lot have it, so the food doesn't go to waste, eh?"

She side eyed him, then glanced at her sister. She knew what he was at.

"What do you think Lily?" she asked, "Shall we have fish and chips tonight then go over to John's tomorrow, you can see Katie?"

Lily shook her head and pressed her face into Tommy.

They exchanged a glance with one another, it had been weeks since Christmas day and the friendship that had been blossoming between Lily and Katie had come to an abrupt halt – and Polly kept giving him pointed looks every time Lily refused to speak to Katie or go to John's house.

Evidently not wanting to push her sister, Rosie sighed and said, "Well I'll agree to that for a compromise – only because I'm so tired though."

"See Lily, your sister can be a good girl sometimes," he said with a smirk at the sister in question, patting the back of the child's head.

Rosie kicked him in the shin and he raised an eyebrow at her – but she just raised one right back. He glanced down to make sure Lily's face was still pressed into his chest then swatted quickly at the redhead's backside. Far from being chastised she giggled at him – which made have to fight to keep his face in its stern countenance rather than smile at her; she wasn't particularly a giggler and the novelty of it only made it more special whenever she did.

He slid his arm around her waist, pulling her to his side the rest of the way to the chip shop, only using entering through the single door as an excuse to slide his hand down to and pat her rear end to push her in ahead of him.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Afterwards, once they had eaten and bathed, Lily had brought her doll and bear down from their bedroom and Rosie had brushed out her sister's hair before leaving her to play in front of the fire and join him on the sofa.

Her own hair had been brushed out too in the time that they'd gone upstairs, but hers was short enough it seemed to have dried by the time he'd bathed himself and they'd reappeared - Lily in her nightdress and socks with a jumper over the top of it, Rosie in her standard oversized men's pyjamas she wore – certainly, when she picked up her book and lay her head on his shoulder he didn't feel any dampness coming through his shirt.

They sat in a contented silence for a while, her turning the pages of her book whilst he flicked through the paper, only shifting slightly when one or other of them reached for their tea, and Lily jabbered away on the floor quite happily with her toys - until Rosie glanced up at one point to see that Lily had shifted further backwards, towards the fire during her game.

"Lily come away a bit from the fire, your hair might catch," she called down to her sister, her head still on his shoulder and her feet still tucked up under her.

Lily looked up at her, then continued to play with her doll and her bear – not moving.

"Lily!" she called again, closing her book and sharpening her tone.

The girl didn't even look up this time. Tommy frowned, Lily's tantrums seemed to have been stopping – she hadn't been crying or screaming for a while, but in their place there was an attitude that, like Polly had said, kept coming back over and over again, no matter how he told her to mind it. He had thought from the first tantrum that maybe Polly had been right and, as annoyed as he had been over her comments on Christmas Day, the more he had gone over them in his head – and the more he watched Katie ignore Lily every time they were in a room together, other than when she was forced to speak to her – the more he was convinced he perhaps had been too soft on the child.

Rosie sighed, then swung her feet down and strained to move, clearly going to go lift her sister away from the fire.

He laid a hand over on her stomach and pushed her gently backdown the inch or so she had come forward, "You stay where you are, you're tired," he told her, then turning his eyes to the child on the hearth, "Lily!"

She looked up to him and he raised an eyebrow at her.

She moved her chin down so she was looking up at him from under her eyes with a vaguely irritated look – he fought not to smile because it was a perfect child's imitation of the look he'd give to people when he looked up at them from under his hat. But he was quite sure he was more intimidating looking than the blond haired, blue eyed bab that sat giving it to him. Still, he'd never seen her use it before and he figured she'd picked it up from him looking at his brothers that way when they said stupid things and the imitation tickled him a little.

She still didn't move though so he kept his face stern and leant forward, placing his elbows on his knees and said, "Lily if I have to get up and move you it's a smacked backside you'll find yourself sitting on."

Her eyes went very wide as she looked at him, seeming shocked at what he had said, and he watched her brain process his words before she bumped herself towards them, away from the fire.

He smiled a little then, "Good - now one more bump this way please, to be safe."

She complied and he leant back, his hand that had been on Rosie's stomach moving to her thigh, which he stroked absent-mindedly as he told her sister, "That's a good girl now Lily, but I'm not pleased how long that took – you do what you're told the first time or you run the risk of a smack, do you understand?"

"Yes Tommy," she whispered, still looking at him with wide eyes, her voice a little wobbly.

Rosie's hand came down on top of his and he looked over at her in question as she dug her nails into his skin.

"She's never been smacked," she told him in a low voice, so the child wouldn't hear.

He snorted, as quietly as he could, "Yeah - that was quite obvious at Ada's birthday tea. Fucking sweets."

"I don't want her being hurt," she replied, her voice low but firm.

Her hand was still digging into his, so he reached over with his free hand and tapped her thigh lightly, "Did that hurt?"

She rolled her eyes, "I've seen you dishing out smacks Tommy – and felt them too might I add-"

"Aye, only the once really," he cut across her with a grin, "And you got off lightly because you made me laugh with your baboon comments. Thinking I'll need to rectify it at some point."

"Maybe it was the once but that little tap there certainly wasn't what you laid down on me," she hissed at him out the side of her mouth, smiling down at Lily, who was looking up at them, her eyes still a bit wetter than normal.

The child was obviously slightly upset by his words – which was not necessarily a bad thing in his mind, if words alone worked as a deterrent then he'd use words as long as he could. But in the instant she'd moved in response to the words, he'd made up his mind – Polly had been right. Not that he had any plans of giving his aunt the satisfaction of making a thing of it.

He smiled at Lily too and replied to Rosie quietly, "Yeah as if I'd lay down on her what I did on you - she's six. All she needs is a tap to get her attention – the idea of it is more of a concern to them at that age than the reality of whether it hurts or not; don't you forget I've had two that age on my hands before, I know what I'm doing. Only reason I'd put any force into smacking her would be if she ran risk of hurting herself worse than I could hurt her."

"Aye cause setting herself on fire isn't that!"

"She wouldn't have got on fire," he tutted at her worry, "I'd have been over there before that – worst that could have happened was that she'd lose some hair and serve her right if she did for not listening to you!"

"You've got a right funny idea of justice Thomas Shelby," she told him, her smile still firmly in place as Lily looked between them.

"Me and the rest of the world," he replied, trying not to laugh at her, "If she spoke back to the teacher or didn't move when she was told to in school she'd get worse than I'd give her and there'd be no one you could be digging your little claws in to about it."

She huffed at him then before removing her nails from his hand and he laughed openly at her, unable to stop himself.

"Tommy, I don't want her being scared of you," she said quietly, "I don't want her flinching every time you raise an eyebrow at her."

He raised an eyebrow at her then, "Do you see Ada or Finn flinching around me? Do you flinch around me?

"No but she's a child."

"So are you, may I remind you."

She rolled her eyes at that and turned from him, held her arms out to her sister saying, "You want to sit up here with me Lily?"

The child nodded and abandoned her toys to run the few steps into her sister's outstretched hands, where she was swept up onto Rosie's lap for kisses to be peppered along her forehead.

He reached over to grab one of her feet and gave it a squeeze saying, "Lily – you're still my best girl, aren't you?"

She looked at him a little uncertainly and he grinned and said, "Of course you are Lily, you're always my best girl, even when I'm not pleased with you that doesn't change."

He noticed she seemed to relax a little then, her head fell against Rosie's chest more easily and she smiled slightly more widely. He could see why Rosie had never smacked the child – she was a nervous little thing at times, though not so shy or nervous now as she had once been, which pleased him. She was a happy baby overall but her upsets were upsetting to watch and she required a lot of reassurance afterwards – though as soon as the reassurance had been accepted she seemed to forget the upset as quickly as it had come over her in the first place, she didn't seem to stew in things the way he suspected Rosie did in her own mind.

Where the redhead's worry about the child being scared of him had come from he didn't know. He imagined it had something to do with their mother – and that both giving out discipline and reassuring the child afterwards that they were still safe and loved was a hard thing to balance if Rosie had been trying to do it alone. But enough had been enough and it was time for Lily to get her boundaries drawn clearly – Polly had been right too when she'd said it wasn't fair on her to ask her to manage herself. And he knew that the discipline differences between Lily and Finn had been partly to blame for the incident at Ada's birthday; before Katie had ever been distant with her. And besides, Rosie wasn't alone anymore. She needed to know that, if nothing else.

"Lily, c'mere to me a minute, I want us to have a talk," he said, holding out a hand to her.

She glanced up at her sister before reaching out to take it, and though Rosie helped her to slide over her amber eyes pierced him. He ignored the redhead, put his hands on Lily's waist and lifted her to stand on the sofa in between his legs so that his head and hers were around the same height.

"Now, this is a very serious discussion we're going to have, and I don't want you to forget it, so pay attention, okay?"

She nodded and bit her lip, clearly slightly nervous.

"Good – now, first of all, the most important thing is you're my best girl Lily and that will never change, okay?" he said.

She nodded.

"Good girl," he said, rubbing his hands up and down her waist, not letting her go in case she decided to step backwards and fall off the sofa at his words, "Now the next thing Lily is that your sister here thinks you won't be talking to me if I give you a smack – would that be right?"

She bit her lip again, looked at her sister and then looked back at him before saying, "Well I don't think I would like it very much."

He smiled at her innocence.

"That's good – because you're not supposed to like it Lily. It's supposed to be a consequence of you not doing what you're told. Consequence means it's what happens when you don't do as you're told," he told her, pre-empting the question, "And if you liked the consequence it wouldn't work. It has to be something you don't like to make sure you _do_ do as you're told. You _need_ to want to avoid the consequence - do you understand?"

She nodded slowly.

"That's my clever girl," he said, smiling at her, "Now, the good news about this is that it's all up to you – if you're a very good girl and you do as you're told and you're not cheeky, you won't need to worry about being smacked, alright?"

She nodded.

"But if you don't do as you're told – like you didn't do tonight when Rosie told you to sit away from the fire – or if you give any of us that attitude that you know I don't like, then you understand that that might get your backside smacked, yes?"

She nodded again, her mouth drooping.

"And that makes you just the same as every other kid round here – same as Ada and Finn, same as Isaiah, same as all John's kids. That's what happens to all of them, Lily – you know that, you've seen it plenty. So, it's not just you."

She smiled slightly at that then and he realised how much that distance that had been between her and Finn and Katie and the rest of them had been bothering her. All Lily wanted was to be part of a group – and he hadn't let her do that by being different with her. Damn Polly. But he'd change that now. He smiled back at Lily and wrapped his left arm around her waist to hold her so he could release his right.

He held it out to her saying, "So shall we shake hands that we have a deal then Miss Jackson? That you're a real Watery Lane kid now? Same as the rest of them - if you don't behave you get a smacking and if you do behave then you don't get smacked?"

She giggled at him then placed her tiny hand in his. He shook it very solemnly before bringing it to his lips and kissing it, rubbing his thumb against the back of it.

"Now Lily, there's something else I need you to understand," he continued, releasing her hand and holding his up so she could see it clearly, "See this hand of mine Lily? It will smack you sometimes – because it's natural that all kids struggle to do what they're told all of the time. And I won't like it and you won't like it when it happens, but it will happen, and we'll get through it, alright?"

She nodded, pouting a little. He knew she didn't really understand what he was saying – that, though he knew it would happen one day, he would find it tougher than she would when he had to discipline her. But he wasn't going to fail her by not doing it.

"And when you get into real trouble – which probably won't happen 'til you're older - this hand will turn you over my knee and give you a proper spanking. And we'll both be really upset when that happens – because it will happen."

She frowned at that.

"But see this same hand Lily?" he pressed on before she could think too much on her frown, "I promise you - once you've been punished for your wrongdoings, it'll go round you and it'll hold you and it'll wipe away all your tears. And this hand will hold your hand in it when we're out and about so that you never get lost. And this hand will work all its days to make sure you've always got food in your tummy and a roof over your head. And this hand will help you with your homework, until you get cleverer than it - which you will. And it will tickle you because your laugh is one of my favourite sounds in the whole world," he moved it to her stomach then do just that and was rewarded with her giggle, and he laughed with her, "Yeah, that laugh right there Lily," he said, nodding, "That's the one. This hand will play games with you. And it'll comfort you. And it'll cuddle you. It'll stop at nothing to protect you. And it'll keep you safe."

He moved his hand back, so he held her waist evenly again, both hands circling it and holding her tight, "My hands are yours Lily, I promise you that - they belong to you. For my whole life you will get everything you need from my hands, okay? Because you're my best girl and I love you, very, very much. Do you hear me? Even when your naughty side comes out and you get a smacking, I still love you and you're still my best girl, do you understand?"

"Yes Tommy," she whispered.

"Alright – you promise me you will never, ever forget that? No matter how upset you are with me?"

"I promise."

"Good girl Lily, now give me a best girl cuddle," he said, pulling her into him.

Her little arms went around his neck as she fell against him and when she said, "I love you too Tommy," he thought he might burst – or that perhaps he would burst her from hugging her to him so tightly.

"Are you crying?" he heard her ask then sounding amused, and he wouldn't have been surprised if he was, because he really was quite overwhelmed at her telling him that she loved him - but when he looked at her he saw she was looking at her sister, who had moved forward to sit on the edge of the couch and was facing the other way, tipping tea down her throat, her shoulders shaking slightly.

"Me? No!" came the shaky response from the redhead.

"Ah that sister of yours Lily, she's tough when it comes to everyone else but she's awful soft and emotional when it comes to you. And maybe me too, a little bit, I'm beginning to think," he said, snaking his right-hand round Lily's waist to keep her in place and reaching out his left to pat Rosie's back a little.

He wished he could see her face, wondering what she'd make of the assertion he thought she might be soft with him – soft on him.

"Away and chase yourself Thomas Shelby," she half shrieked, half sobbed, waving her hand over her shoulder at him and spilling the remnants of the tea in the process.

He shook his head, exchanging a smile with Lily, "Shall I take you upstairs and put you to bed Lily? Let your sister have her moment in private? She's awful silly, doesn't like it if anyone sees her being soft."

Lily giggled and nodded and he got to his feet with her in his arms, "I'm not as good a singer as your sister though Lily, so you might just need to go without a song tonight, hope that's alright."

The lack of song didn't seem to bother her - after he had tucked her in and stroked her hair she had fallen asleep quite quickly, with her hand curled around his. He'd only _just_ managed to find the heart to untwine his fingers from hers – he could have stayed there for hours, staring in wonder at this little thing who _loved_ him. He didn't know what he had done to deserve that, but by god he had meant every word he had said to her – he was hers, for the rest of his days.

It wasn't that he'd felt unloved before. He knew his brothers and sister loved him, knew his aunt loved him – but they just didn't feel any need to say it. And yet, hearing it said had unlocked something in him that he hadn't realised had been locked in the first place.

But he had another slightly bigger little thing downstairs, so eventually he folded Lily's hand under her covers and headed back down the stairs to join the redhead on the sofa.


	26. Chapter 26

Tommy arrived down from putting Lily to bed to find fresh tea in both their cups and Rosie absolutely engrossed in the Birmingham Evening Dispatch that he had discarded.

"You calm?" he asked her as he sat back down next to her.

"Perfectly calm as always thank you very much," she replied, not looking up from the paper.

He snorted, "Aye, so y'are."

She kicked him lightly in the shin.

"You are getting far too good at that, give us your feet up," he told her.

"Nah they're fine."

"I wasn't asking. Give me your feet."

"Why?" she asked, finally moving her eyes up from her paper, filled with suspicion - but clearly also about to give in to an urge to laugh.

He raised an eyebrow at her, "You've been on them all day, plus they keep kicking me."

"Yes Thomas - and that's generally a reason to distance yourself from someone's feet."

"For god's sake - give them here!" he sighed and thrust his arm under her knees, yanking them up and round so that she was pulled down on the couch, her feet in the air in front of his face, the paper falling to the floor. He swatted lightly at her rear, "Does the other Miss Jackson also need a threat of sitting on a smacked backside to make her behave and do as she's told?"

"Maybe she does Mr Shelby," she retorted, but she wiggled her backside away from him, pushing herself up so she was sat sideways on the couch, her feet still in his grasp, "Or maybe she doesn't. But either way, she does want to know what exactly your intentions with her feet are."

He rolled his eyes and tucked her right foot it its usual spot under his leg to keep it warm, beginning with her left, pulling off her utilitarian wool sock and pressing his knuckles in, grinding away at the pressure points.

She sat with her mouth slightly open in amazement for a minute, watching him, but groaned audibly when he pressed his knuckle into the centre of the ball of her foot and rotated it.

"Christ Tommy, where'd you learn how to do that?"

"Gypsy witchcraft," he told her with a grin.

"You know, a lot of people round here do believe you have something of that."

He snorted derisively, "My father used tell fortunes – and steal horses. Sometimes he'd tell people their horses were going to be stolen and they'd be amazed when he was right. Any gypsy witchcraft in my family tree skipped us lot and went to Polly."

"Yeah but it doesn't matter what you do or don't have – people believe it. You know the power of reputation Tommy."

"What you saying?" he said, his eyes on hers.

"I'm saying I hear you and Arthur arguing."

"You told me to stop letting Arthur get to me," he smirked over at her, digging his thumbs into the arch of her foot.

She closed her eyes and groaned – and his trousers twitched a little.

"I did," she said, once she had opened her eyes again, "And you should. But I heard you going on at each other the other day – about how you need to drum up business and that the January excuse will only last for so long."

"It'll pick up in February."

"You said times are hard for people."

"They are, but people will always want a frisson of excitement and betting gives them that. Just maybe less people than before the war."

"What are you saying?"

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying - if the shop is struggling more than you're letting me know and if you need to give people a reason to lay a bet – magic is as good as any if they believe in it. And they do. And you know the betting shop's the bit of your business you can get legal at some point, if you want to, so I know for all your money comes from elsewhere-" Tommy opened his mouth to cut her off, but she just raised an eyebrow at him and he ended up grinning at her instead of interrupting her, "For all it comes from elsewhere, you don't want to abandon the shop. That's why you're putting up with Arthur in the first place."

He tucked her foot under him and pulled out the second one, working away on it.

She really had him sometimes. And other times she was clearly just a bit too like Polly – and not in the supernatural sensing way, in the listening to other people when she was pretending to be engrossed in something else way. In the filling information away for use at a later date way. Maybe a bit too like himself for entire comfort too, come to that.

But - it wasn't altogether a terrible idea. All he needed to do was get the horse somewhere that was concealed enough it wouldn't seem like he was trying to be seen, but visible enough that word would spread. And people didn't know enough of Gypsy magic to know what they'd be supposed to be looking at – but the Chinese witch on the other hand…

The real thing would be making the magic appear magic. He'd have to back it up. The horse would have to win. And Billy Kimber would need to be part of that. But he'd been thinking about Billy Kimber for a while anyway.

"Tommy," Rosie said suddenly, interrupting his flow of thought.

He turned to her, still kneading her foot.

"Do you see me as a child?"

He snorted, "Doesn't matter what I see you as, you're under eighteen – you're a child by law."

"I can leave school at sixteen. I could get married at sixteen."

"You'll leave school once you've done that leaver's certificate and not a bloody minute before," he frowned at her, not commenting on the second part of her sentence.

She returned the frown, "I want to work, Thomas."

"And you will – and your prospects of that will be better when you've got the certificate, so don't argue with me or you'll regret it," he said, calmly but with a raised eyebrow.

"You really don't do well at discussions, do you?"

"You see here," he said, ceasing his kneading and prodding her foot instead to emphasise his words, "I knew agreeing to these discussions of yours was a bad idea. I'll discuss things with you, I've agreed to that. I'll compromise where I can compromise – you were at that bloody job today weren't you? And you were dead on your feet afterwards. But there are certain things that I won't compromise on, and you'll just bloody well need to learn to accept that because as of right now I'm an adult and you're a child."

She yanked her foot out of his grip and glared at him.

"Don't throw a tantrum, you won't care for the results."

"You and your threats Thomas! I'm bloody sick of them," she growled.

"Then stop inviting them."

"I don't – you just hand them out whether they're wanted or not!"

"I believe I just told your sister not to be cheeky, so you adjust your own tone Rosie."

"I'm not being cheeky, I'm taking my liberties you told me you give me," she replied, rolling her eyes.

She was awfully quick, he had to give her it.

"They only go so far – I'm still Tommy Shelby and you knew that when you came here," he told her, "I won't be cheeked by a saucy fifteen-year-old."

"Saucy, hmm? Didn't know you read Shakespeare," she said.

He didn't know what she meant by that, but he wasn't going to give her the upper hand, so he simply said, "I went to school once."

"Just the once? That explains a few things," she snarled.

It could have been a joke, but there was an anger to her tone that he didn't usually hear.

"You watch your mouth, I mean it," he frowned – unsure how they'd gone from a fairly pleasant, even if slightly emotional, evening on the sofa to this all of a sudden and not sure he cared for it.

"Well this saucy fifteen-year-old is going to bed," she snapped, swinging her legs around and standing, glaring at him, "Since I'm so dead on my feet according to you!"

"Off you go then," he said, waving his hand in the direction of the door, knowing his seeming disinterest would only rile her more but not particularly caring in that moment.

By God - she'd be staying in school to do that exam and she would bloody learn to watch her tone and if his right hand had to be as red as her hair to ensure those things happened then so be it!

And she _would not_ be marrying _anyone_ at sixteen, that was a ridiculous concept too, as far as he was concerned. 

And what exactly was her issue with him pointing out how tired she was?

She fumed at him, and he thought for a minute she might be about to stamp her foot, but she didn't – she just stamped by him.

He laid a smack across her backside as she passed him, and she jumped around, her hands going to her rear, glaring at him.

"You're a bully Thomas Shelby," she snapped.

He tried not to laugh as she glared at him and spoke with such venom in her voice whilst her hands rested on her backside, as if to protect it – a position Ada and Finn had adopted plenty of times when stood in front of him. No, he didn't think of her as a child. That was the truth. And there was something about seeing someone who wasn't a child, in his head, adopt the pose of a child that was incredibly amusing - and endearing. She wasn't a child, truthfully, but she was so little it brought out all his instincts of wanting to look after her and protect her from the world. But he wasn't going to laugh and he wasn't going to tell her that, he was going to control himself.

"If you want to go to bed on one smack I suggest you keep moving," he said keeping his voice low and his face neutral, "If you fancy more keep standing there and talking yourself into it."

"What – so Lily will get your hand holding her and wiping her tears after you smack her, but I just get told to go to bed?"

"You were the one who decided you were going to bed. And I don't see any tears on your face my girl," he told her, raising an eyebrow, "If I thought you were penitent I'd comfort you – but you're quite clearly not."

"My girl! _My girl!_ How come sometimes I'm my girl and other times I'm my darling girl? How come that changes - when Lily gets reassured that she's your best girl no matter what?" she shouted at him, suddenly angry for reasons he couldn't comprehend. Clear as bloody mud. 

He stood up and took a step towards her then and she backed up, turning on her heel to flee through to the kitchen – he followed her and came to a stop in the open doors between the kitchen and the shop. She had stopped and turned half way up the stairs, evidently looking behind her to see if he was following. It was quite adorable, even if he still didn't care for the tone she'd used.

"Right, my darling girl," he said unable to hide his grin, crossing his arms and resting on the doorframe, "Get yourself up those stairs and go to bed unless you fancy sleeping on your stomach."

The corners of her mouth upturned slightly, "I'm still your darling girl then?"

He nodded, "Always. Even when your behaviour is far from darling and a little more like a saucy child's."

"Well apparently I am a child to you," she said, rolling her eyes.

"Oh no, you didn't pay attention, I never said that, I said _by law_ you're a child. You've never been a child in your life," he returned, rolling his eyes back at her.

She smiled then, that pretty smile that made his stomach flip whenever she laid it on him.

"Oh, don't you smile at me – whether you're a child or not if you disobey me or cheek me I'll put you over my knee, and I won't care whether you're fifteen or fifty."

"You reckon you'll still be controlling me when I'm fifty do you?" she said, dropping the smile to a smirk.

"I don't think anyone controls you, you little wench. But I reckon we'll still be rubbing along together then because no man'll have you and your mouth. And I'll have done you no favours in that regard I imagine by equipping you with a gun and liberties."

"Quite selfish really – you're designing it that I'll be the old maid who lives here with Tommy Shelby?" she asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Oh no," he shook his head at her and watched her upturned mouth straighten completely again, her eyes narrowing at him, "You were quite right when you said I had to keep a hand on the betting shop because I can legalise it. I have non-legal business to build and put through that legal business if I'm going to achieve what I want – and as part of those achievements I very much intend to have left _here_ and have bought a much bigger house for us by the time you're fifty – though preferably before then. I got a fancy fountain pen for Christmas to let me sign the documents."

"You know maybe no man will have me, but no woman will have you either Thomas Shelby, and it'll be nothing to do with your guns, it'll just be because you're a smug, insufferable…"

She trailed off, throwing her hands up and searching for a word.

He raised an eyebrow, "Baboon?"

"I was thinking more like bastard," she snapped.

He crossed to the foot of the stairs, his groin twitching slightly when she shifted as though she were going to move backwards and maintain the distance, one hand sliding to her backside. He crooked a finger and beckoned her to him, more than a twitch happening when her mouth did that thing where it fell slightly open and he noticed her nipples were poking through the men's nightshirt, erect at his action. Crooking his finger at her – that was one to file away for use later.

She stared at him for a minute then came down slowly towards him, the dull thud of her footsteps the only sound. He waited till she was on the last step before grabbing her wrist and pulling her to him, whirling her round so her arse was pressed into his already erect groin, the hand that wasn't holding her wrist splaying across her stomach and pulling her back against him.

"Now what exactly is your problem tonight you little wench?" he demanded with a growl.

She turned her head to look over her shoulder at him, "All this legalising and _by law_ talk Tommy, it's very disappointing – I didn't think you cared much for being on the right side of the law, I mean, isn't that precisely why you bribe that Sergeant Moss every week? So that you can do what you like?"

"It's true that I may have little regard for keeping myself on the right side of the law, but I have a large amount of regard, Miss Jackson, for keeping innocent people on the right side of the law as much as possible. I'll risk myself, but when there's no need to risk others, I won't – you understand?"

She didn't answer and he released her wrist and used the hand he'd splayed on her stomach to grip her pyjama top and yank her forward, applying his free hand to her backside.

"I said do you understand?" he growled, smacking her on every syllable.

"Ow! Leave off Thomas!" she said, her hands flying behind her to shield herself, "I understand!"

"Move your hands."

"Thomas!" she whined at him.

"Be a good girl and move your hands," he said, letting the words out smoothly and slowly.

She didn't answer but she turned her head so that he could see her biting her lip. If he hadn't already been full erect, he would have been after that.

"Move your hands or it'll be worse for you," he growled at her.

She sighed, but slowly inched her hands away.

"Good girl," he said, moving his hand to smack the undersides of her rear and the tops of her thighs.

"You know I'm beginning to think you like smacking my arse Thomas Shelby," she said, wiggling around, almost seeming, despite all her protestations, to be arching her back and sticking her arse out for him.

"Well it is a good fat arse, I'll give you that," he replied, keeping his hand smacking upwards, his eyes transfixed on the ripple and bounce of the arse in question – or what he could see of its movements through the pyjamas.

She squealed and danced a little, but the hands she had moved from her rear end had wound themselves around the arm he had in front of her and had slid down that arm to entwine her fingers with his. There was a pressure on his arm too as some of her weight pressed down upon it, which meant she was definitely bending herself over, at least slightly, to present him with a better target.

He was half tempted to slip his hand to her waistband, give it a tug and get a look at her arse in its glory, and he was fairly sure she'd have given a token objection and then accepted it if he had decided to continue on her bare skin – but he didn't know if he had the bloody control.

He landed a round of quick fire, stinging swats on her then wrapped his right hand around her waist, latching it onto his left elbow to encircle her and pulled her tight against him. She squirmed backwards against him and tilted her head to the side as it to offer him her neck – and, God, he wanted to kiss it. But not now. Not yet. He could feel heat radiating from her through to his groin as she squirmed – and he didn't think he'd smacked her enough to be able to credit it all to that. Looking down over her shoulder he could see her nipples still boldly making their presence known through the shirt and it took all of his willpower to keep his hands on her waist and not to slide his hands up and stroke them.

"Now," he growled in her ear, "I get the feeling you might like me smacking your arse as much as I might like smacking it – but don't get yourself mixed up sweetheart – there's the type of nice heat you can get from a smacking from a man who is devoted to you and there's the fire a real spanking can put in you that'll have you crying some real tears and eating standing up for a while – and that one can come from anyone in the world who's devoted enough to your safety and wellbeing to provide it. So you _will_ do what I tell you, you _will_ stay within the boundaries of the law unless I say otherwise, you _will_ keep yourself safe and if you don't – or if I get that saucy mouth of yours past my limit – you _will_ find yourself over my knee and I promise you it will _not_ be the fun and games I think you might think it'll be."

"Fun and games indeed – so what was that Thomas, was that not a real spanking?"

"Oh, I think you and I both know that was not a real spanking, Rosalie."

"Is that your way of declaring your devotion to me then?"

"Get to bed," he said, taking his arms from around her and turning her towards the stairs.

"Really Thomas?" she demanded.

"Really," he said, smacking her again to get her moving.

She turned and glared.

"You know you are just _the_ _singular_ most _infuriating_ person I have _ever_ come across in my entire god-damned life Thomas Shelby," she spat out.

"Oh likewise Rosalie, bloody well likewise. Now get up those stairs before you wake up your sister with your blarting and clarting about."

"My blarting and clarting about?" she half shrieked, then glanced over her shoulder up the stairs.

"You know I'm right," he smirked, "So get your smacked arse up the stairs."

"I _hate_ you Thomas Shelby," she hissed.

"You and everybody else," he grinned.

"Well I hate you more than anybody else does! More than the rest of them all put together!"

"I will notify the relevant parties that they are no longer first in line for my neck then."

"I don't want your bloody neck – I don't want any bloody part of you!"

"Aye alright my love, that's why you're mad that I called you my girl instead of my darling girl."

"I am _not_ mad about that! I don't give a flying fuck what you call me!" she snarled, which was rather a blatant lie but he figured her dignity demanded he accept it as if it were the truth, " I'm mad at your – at your _inappropriate_ approach to life."

He threw back his head and laughed at that, "My inappropriate approach to life? Bit late to be mad about that now isn't it darling?"

"Well your inappropriate approach to me then!"

"Are we characters in one of your books now eh? Inappropriate approach indeed."

"Oh aye - cause the gangster and the whore's child are the type of people people write about."

"Look here you – you're the one all worked up because I'm abiding by the law in recognising that you are technically a child, so if anyone's being inappropriate with anyone here…" he trailed off, raising an eyebrow.

"Shut up Thomas."

He walked up to her, putting his face to hers, noticing the flush on her cheeks, the dilation in her eyes and shortness of breath. He was sure if he had tugged down the pyjama bottoms her arousal would have scented the air, and he was sure it hadn't gone anywhere. She was all talk; her pride was just wounded because he wouldn't declare his devotion to her. Not yet. Now wasn't the time for that, now was that time to decide whether to let her carry on with her talk or point out the truth.

Or to compromise somewhere in the middle.

"My darling girl," he said, wrapping his arms around her, one on her waist and one on her bottom, "I gave you my promise – and you told me you understood. I will keep you safe - that is what I promised you. I will keep you and Lily safe. Now, one of the easiest ways for me to do that is by not breaking any laws where you're concerned – by not dragging you into unsafe situations in the first place. Do you understand?"

He patted her backside as he asked, a gentle imitation of his earlier accompaniment to the same question. She arched her back almost automatically to the gesture and he only just managed to keep his face in its serious expression.

"Do you understand?" he repeated, using the hand on her backside to push her to him so her body was pressed against his, her face tilted up to meet his gaze.

God he could kiss that little mouth so easily – and it was parted, open, perfectly ready to accept his kiss. Because she would let him kiss her – and she'd kiss him back, he was sure of that. He could feel the heat in her own groin against him now and her nipples pressed into him, erect enough that he could feel them through both his shirt and hers. He was sure she could feel him too – but he didn't know if she'd realise what it was that she was feeling against her or not.

"Yes Thomas," she breathed up at him.

"Good girl," he nodded down at her.

And then he pressed a very gentle kiss to her forehead – and her eyes fluttered closed as he did – before he took a step back and placed his hands on her waist turning her firmly around and smacking her sharply.

"Now, go to bed."

She made a great show of rubbing her bottom with both hands, as though she'd been very severely spanked, the entire way up the stairs - but if she'd thought to make him remorseful of his actions by it, she was severely mistaken in her method of achieving her aim. On the contrary if he hadn't already been solid he would have been from watching her little hands rub at the heat he'd put in her arse.

"Goodnight Rosalie," he called up as she was about to disappear out of sight.

She turned her head, both hands still on her rear and said, very softly, "Goodnight Thomas."

As soon as she was gone he headed out the backdoor to the outhouse, where he spurted his load with the aid of only a few tugs on his dick – something he hadn't done since he was a legal child himself. He stood against the brick wall, knowing it was filthy and not really caring, letting his breathing return to normal.

It was all a very informal end to an evening that, in amongst sarcastic comments and threats and insults and a case of serious ball ache, had contained what seemed a rather formal agreement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the kudos and the lovely comments on the last chapter, I really appreciate them! xx


	27. Chapter 27

Tommy didn't know if things had gone right or wrong for him when he opened the crates and the four bikes were nowhere to be found. Instead of the bikes, he was looking at twenty-five Lewis machine guns, ten thousand rounds of ammunition, fifty semi-automatic rifles and two hundred pistols, with shells. It seemed he was to take over all of his Uncle Charlie's stables, because he had them moved into the stall in the stables that he wasn't putting the horse into, until such times as he made up his mind what to do with them.

Those kind of crates didn't go missing without being followed up on. Four bikes, that was an insurance job. This – this would attract attention. He had to think. He had to make up his mind – alone. He didn't need bloody Polly's opinion – he knew it without asking. " _Rule one – don't punch above your weight."_ That was Polly's approach, stay safe. This – this would count as punching above his weight.

But he had to punch up if he wanted to punch out, and he wanted to punch out.

He'd been planning that punch out via Billy Kimber. This - this was even bigger. And so were the risks. He'd promised her he'd keep her safe. He was going to keep her and Lily safe. But he was also going to move them to that big house and sign the documents with that bloody fountain pen. And then he was going to carry her over the threshold and kiss her every damn day.

So, could he leave the opportunity that had presented itself to him? No. No, he couldn't. But he had to decide what to do and it had to be done quietly and efficiently and she had to be nowhere bloody near it. He'd deal with it alone. He'd sworn Charlie and Curly to secrecy and when he'd gathered to his contacts at the BSA he'd acted like the crates his men had picked up had been the bikes, he'd simply said the buyer was happy and wanted another four just the same as the first four. The strikes had started again – Freddie and his union had had the sense not to ask men to strike right before or after Christmas, that was when the men's wives would get involved and no matter what anyone said, they knew those women held more influence than any of the men pretended they did. It had taken another few weeks before he'd secured another four – but he got them this time, and the buyer was happy.

Whatever had passed between them that night, he took it that she was his as much as he was hers. So, he wasn't too worried anymore about whatever her knowledge of Freddie Thorne had been, and he was convinced from the way she'd looked at him when he'd held her face and warned her that she was to stay away from communists that she would heed him.

But when he walked into the Garrison that afternoon and chanced to see Freddie drinking at a table with other union men – presumably a strike day given it was the middle of the afternoon - he thought it would be a good excuse to make sure the warning was heeded on both sides. He glanced at Freddie, catching his eye before he walked up to the bar, taking his hat off. Freddie would know he wanted to talk. Freddie knew him well enough - he'd known him for long enough.

"On the house Mr Shelby," Harry said, placing a bottle of whisky and a glass before him and walking away. Tommy fished out some coins from his pocket and placed them on the counter anyway.

Freddie still hadn't approached him. Tommy tensed. He was testing him, making him wait. He glanced over again. Freddie smirked, then made a great show of standing and finishing his beer before he approached the bar. Tommy busied himself lighting a new cigarette.

Freddie smacked his empty glass down and told Harry he'd take a mild.

"Right," the barman nodded and poured the drink. He looked to Freddie for payment, but Freddie had already eyed the coins Tommy had placed by his own bottle. He took a few steps to close the distance between him, placed two fingertips on the top coin of the pile and slid it over, his eyes on Tommy – looking for a reaction he wouldn't give him.

He felt Harry's eyes go between them and gave a fraction of a nod, telling the barman to take the money, keeping his eyes focussed in front of him. He could see Freddie's reflection in the countertop and he watched as his former best friend turned and leaned lazily on the bar.

"Cheers Thomas, good health to you," Freddie said, taking a sip from his fresh beer.

Tommy didn't reply, just smoked again while he thought of the best way to approach the subject.

Freddie never had had the patience Tommy did and in response to the silence, he picked up the cap from where Tommy had lain it on the bar, obviously hoping to push him into conversation.

"The crown of a prince," he commented, his fingers pulling at the material, exposing the blades that were sewn in, "Soon to be king I'd bet,"

"You don't bet," Tommy replied.

"No, but these past few days I've been speculating," Freddie returned.

That was interesting. Maybe there was something Freddie wanted to discuss with him, as much as there was anything he wanted to discuss with Freddie. Freddie loved the idea that he might have information Thomas didn't, and the great thing about an arrogance that delighted in itself like Freddie's was that it couldn't resist the chance to tumble out what it held. Tommy had learned, even as a child, not to tell Freddie too much because the boy couldn't resist rubbing people's noses it in if he knew what they didn't.

"About what?"

"One of my union comrades has a sister who works in the telegraph office at the BSA factory. She says over the past week they've had messages coming up from London to the brass from Winston Churchill himself," Freddie paused then, waiting for a reaction.

Tommy pretended to be disinterested, staring at his cigarette as far as anyone knew, when in reality his eyes were still tracking Freddie in the counter. Winston Churchill sending messages to the BSA factory. Well, he'd known those crates wouldn't go missing without repercussions. And now he knew who had commissioned that order.

The only issue was – why did Freddie think these messages were coming? Did he know why? And if he knew why – why was he telling him? Was his old friend trying to warn him of something?

He didn't know if it was the feigned disinterest, or the subject of what Freddie said next that made the communist close the distance between them to continue, his face close to Tommy's, close enough he could talk quietly whilst the exchange looked friendly enough to any observers.

"Something about a robbery. A robbery of _national significance_ , it said. She found a list of names, left on the telegraph machine. And on that list was your name and my name together – what kind of list would have the name of a communist and the name of a bookmaker side by side?"

Well, there it was. That was why Freddie was telling him.

That was the thing, he knew he'd be implicated. Nothing criminal happened in Birmingham that the Peaky Blinders weren't considered as being potentially at the root of, he knew that. But this – this was exactly why he needed to ensure no communist safe houses started appearing in Watery Lane. This was why he needed his family well away from it all. Because they were looking for a reason to take down Freddie – and any other known communists. Being communist? Not technically a crime. Even being a communist union convener like Freddie? Still not technically a crime. But did that mean the government weren't looking to hang them for it? No. No it didn't mean that. Not at all. 

The truth was, the government wanted rid of the communists - but they couldn't hang them for existing, for having their views. But they didn't want them acting on their views and they'd take any opportunity they could to hang them before then.

They wanted an excuse. And the communists were known to be looking for weapons to equip themselves with for the revolution they were convinced they were going to spearhead. It all would fit quite well if they could prove Freddie, or some other communist in the area, had organised the robbery. It meant that, whilst his name might be on that list, the police didn't _want_ it to be him. Hell - fuck the police - Winston fucking Churchill didn't want it to be him. Eyes that might have been on him would be on Freddie and his comrades. Looking for evidence where they wouldn't find, but where they might make it.

He knew that. And so did Freddie.

So, what was Freddie really saying? Was he unconcerned about the implications of Winston Churchill sending messages? Was he so far gone he didn't care about what that would mean – would he hang willingly for his cause?

Tommy imagined so. Freddie didn't do moderation, never had done. He was all in, all of the time. Head first and thinking later. That was why he'd done what he did in France – he saw that bullet and he saved Tommy's life, even though the distance between them had already started then. Because Freddie hadn't thought about how much easier things might be for him if he wasn't dealing with being against the Peaky Blinders. He had just acted.

Freddie would probably hang for his cause. And he'd be willing to risk it to get those guns.

If he had been telling Freddie what Freddie was telling him, it would have been a warning. A warning that their names were both on that list and that he'd see Freddie go down before he'd go himself.

But no, his old friend wasn't warning Tommy. This was no warning. This was a declaration of interest. Freddie had figured a robbery of national significance included weapons – and good ones. Freddie wanted them for his cause.

Well, Tommy hadn't decided what he was doing with the damn things yet. But one thing was certain – he wasn't putting them into the hands of fucking communists for their lost cause to get dragged out any further, not from the streets of fucking Small Heath.

"Perhaps it's a list of men who give false hope to the poor," he said, giving nothing away about whether he had participated in the robbery or not, "The only difference between you and me, Freddie, is that sometimes my horses stand a chance of winning."

Freddie seethed at that, closing the small distance that had been between them, making it so that their exchange no longer would have looked friendly to an onlooker and spat, "You know there are days when I hear about the cuttings and beatings that I really wish I'd let you take that bullet in France."

Tommy smiled and shook his head. Freddie was trying to remind him what he owed him. Trying to hold it over him, the way he had seen Tommy hold things over people when they were younger. Tommy had come naturally to intimidation and manipulation. Freddie – Freddie couldn't hold things over people convincingly. He was too impatient, too hot headed, too desperate for action. He didn't have the patience to hold out for results and people had a sixth sense for these things – if you wanted to intimidate someone by holding something over them, and showing you'd hold it over them until you decided to act on it – _if_ you decided to act on it – you had to be willing to do it, willing to – able to – hold it. People could tell if you'd tire of holding it before the time for action would come. And they could tell if you'd act anyway, with no strength to hold.

"Believe me," he told Freddie, "There are nights I wish you had."

He had been going to pause, to let it sink in to Freddie that what he thought he held over Tommy was something Tommy considered worthless. Not that he did, of course. That baby loved him. That girl would wait for him. And Arthur, well, he was playing the waiting game with Arthur, waiting for his brother to just give over and let Tommy take the lead. No, Tommy didn't consider what Freddie had done for him, what Freddie had saved for him, to be worthless. But Freddie didn't know that. So, he was going to pause, to let it sink in and then to warn Freddie to stay the fuck away from the redhead.

But Danny had other ideas.

Danny was having another episode.

He crashed through the doors, turning over tables and smashing glasses.

"They're going to get me!" he was shouting above the rabble that had broken out as people jumped to their feet, scurrying out of his way.

Tommy – and Freddie – went towards him though.

"Hey," Tommy said, holding up his hands, hoping seeing the raised palms would calm the frenzied man.

Freddie got in there first, his arms going around Danny, "I've got him, I've got him," Freddie called to Tommy, who got close and got his own arms around the other side of their fellow soldier.

"They're going to get me!" Danny continued to repeat, thrashing between them.

"On three," Freddie said – Tommy nodded at him and Freddie counted out, "One, two, three – down!"

They worked together, pushing Danny to the ground and holding him there.

"Breathe Danny, breathe," Freddie coaxed.

Danny didn't breathe – his chorus continued, seemingly without breath at all, "They're going to get me, they're going to get me!"

"Danny – Danny!" Tommy said, trying to call the man back to his surroundings, "Danny - you're home. We're all home in England. You're not in France."

The shouting had stopped, and now Danny did seem to be breathing, loudly and raggedly, but it was an improvement, so he continued.

"You're not an artillery shell Danny, you're a man, eh? You're not a whizzbang. You're a human being Danny. You're alright."

The man had gone quiet and Tommy soothed him further, keeping his voice low, repeating, "You're alright. You're alright."

Danny seemed to have awoken from inside his fit, his eyes were facing Freddie and Freddie nodded over at Tommy, saying, "Up, up!"

His voice was harsh and staccato against the tones Tommy had been using, and Tommy saw the pain and humiliation on Danny's face once they had him standing, once he could see his face.

"It's alright," he breathed at the man, not taking his hand from his shoulder, though Freddie had stepped back and abandoned him, "It's alright."

Still, Freddie had helped him, he'd give him it – grudgingly.

Danny looked between the two, then focussed on Tommy – maybe because of his hand on his shoulder, maybe because he had been Sergeant Major, Tommy didn't know. But the man's attention was on him and it was his task to calm him, to reassure him. Christ, he knew too well what was happening in Danny's head.

That was when he realised how long it had been since his own last dream. It had been around the same time as Danny's last episode - or at least, his last episode that he knew of. The night before he had gone home to Rosie.

"Oh hell. Did I do it again?" Danny asked him, his eyes desperate as he turned his body to him, whilst Freddie stood back.

Tommy wished he could tell him otherwise but, as gently as he could, he confirmed, "You did it again Danny."

The man started to cry and bowed his head. The pain of it – of seeing a big man like Danny reduced to crying in a pub, having just come back to a reality he didn't remember blacking out of in the first place - stabbed Tommy in the heart.

He cupped the back of Danny's head as he would Finn's, and placed his forehead against the man's, "You gotta stop doing this man, eh?" He patted his head, trying to offer some comfort along with his words.

He didn't know how to help Danny – at least his problems came in the night, when he was in bed. They didn't come to him in the day, when he wasn't expecting them. It was all very well for him to tell Danny he had to stop it, but he didn't really know how to make him stop it. He could only hope something in Danny's mind might one day retain that his commanding officer had told him to stop it, could only hope that when Danny's mind was taking him back to France that maybe his face, his voice, would come into the man's head and order him to stop it.

He saw the man about to well up again and tried to calm him before he started, "It's alright," he repeated to him again, keeping his voice low and gentle as he removed his hand and stood back.

"Oh God! Mr Shelby, I'm sorry!" Danny pleaded.

"It's alright," Tommy told him again.

He didn't know what else to say.

"You go home to your wife now Danny," he told him, thinking of the redhead at home who calmed him, "Try and get all that smoke and mud out of your head, eh?"

Danny walked obediently to the door with him but he wouldn't stop apologising, "Yes Mr Shelby - I'm sorry."

Tommy nodded and put his arm gently on Danny's elbow steering him out, "Go on," he said, pushing him out the door.

He wanted the man out before anyone realised the storm had passed and decided to get involved. Freddie, to his credit, had stayed with them and closed the door behind Danny. They exchanged an honest look and Tommy rubbed at his face with his hand in frustration, his own vulnerability pushing through for a minute.

"Mr Shelby, you have to do something about him," Harry said as Tommy returned to the bar.

Harry's words broke whatever had been joining Freddie and him for that moment and Freddie replied, "Damn right Harry. You pay the Peaky Blinders a lot of money for protection."

Tommy wasn't in the mood now to be provoked. He was too heart-sore over Danny, over what had become of a man who had been great and strong and bold once. He downed the rest of his glass, not looking at Freddie.

Freddie continued anyway, "You're the law round here now Tommy, aren't you?"

He walked right up to where Tommy stood and Tommy picked up his hat, shoving it in his pocket and started to walk away.

"Maybe you should put a bullet in Danny Whiz-Bang's head like they do with mad horses," Freddie continued.

Tommy let out a loud exhale. He was half tempted to punch Freddie in the mouth. How was it Freddie could think people were all equal, think of his fucking glorious communist cause and think that a man who was still affected by what they had gone through – what they had all gone through together – should have nothing in his life anymore, that he should be put down like a mad horse? How could Freddie see a future for the communist cause and see no future for Danny? But then Freddie had always known Tommy – had always known just exactly what to do and what to say to rile him.

"Maybe you'll have to put a bullet in my head someday too," Freddie continued.

Tommy couldn't see his face. Was Freddie trying to rile him now – or was that what Freddie wanted? Was Freddie also mad like Danny, was Freddie just hiding it better? Hiding it like he was? Did Freddie want a bullet – want an end – want peace? Was that what was behind Freddie's dedication to the cause? Did Freddie want to die, but just didn't have the will to blow his own brains out?

Tommy closed his eyes for a minute then put his hat on his head and walked out, ignoring Freddie but turning to Harry and saying, "Bring the bill to the Peaky Blinders - we'll take care of it."

As soon as he was outside he stood against the wall and took his time smoking a fresh cigarette. Fucking Danny. Fucking war. He wanted to go home and fold Rosie in his arms and feel grounded to the earth again. But it was only two o'clock – she was still in school.

He walked home and stuck his head in the shop, telling Polly he'd do the school run, that he had business near the schools.

She just nodded, not looking up from her book, but Arthur had to dig in, "What business?"

"Just business."

"New business?"

"Maybe."

"It's February Tom."

"It is indeed Arthur."

His brother grunted in response to that, then went into his office and slammed the door. Tommy felt Polly's eyes on him then, but he didn't look to her, he just left.

He'd do the school run, but first he'd go find Sergeant Moss and figure out what a robbery of national significance from the BSA factory meant as far as the Birmingham Police Department was concerned.


	28. Chapter 28

The horse – Monaghan Boy - arrived that Saturday, though Tommy planned to wait till the next Saturday to take it out and do the powder trick. A Saturday morning meant kids would be around, off school, and the women would be out as usual too, a maximised audience of people who would spread the word into Small Heath and Sparkbrook without it seeming unusual for them to talk. Especially if he told them not to tell anyone else.

Then he'd send the horse back to the rider. He'd already picked the race and bribed everyone involved to fix it – Monday after next. True, he'd done it all without running anything by Billy Kimber but if he'd asked for a meeting, he wouldn't have got it – so he figured if he got Kimber's attention then so much the better because they could sort something bigger out and if he didn't then it didn't matter that he had fixed the race anyway.

Tommy spent the day at Charlie's Yard, settling the horse in. He was a beautiful beast and Tommy found himself wondering how Lily felt about horses. Maybe he could teach her to ride. Not a horse like Monaghan Boy, obviously, but maybe he could get her a pony to learn on. He could lead her round Charlie's yard until she was confident, then he could take her out to the fields.

The day went by quickly and he ended up going straight to the shop to get Rosie from work himself. He felt slightly guilty at cutting Lily out of their Saturday afternoon ritual, though it gave him the chance to ask Rosie about taking the bab to see the horse the next day after church.

"Lily's never been on a horse, but she's never seemed scared of them when they go by, so I don't see that she wouldn't like to see him," Rosie had shrugged when he asked her.

"I got him here to use your idea about magic," Tommy hold her, his arm slipping into her pocket to entwine with hers.

He had come to adopt this approach when they were out, their height difference meant his hand slid easily into her pocket and it wasn't too noticeable that it was resting there rather than just brushing by her coat unless you stopped to look properly at the two of them as they walked. After he had told her how important it was he kept her on the right side of the law, he had checked himself for how often he slid his arm around her waist when they were out. Particularly on this walk home on Saturdays. His hand in her pocket was the compromise.

"Did you indeed?"

"Uhuh. So, if Arthur murders me it's on your conscience."

"Arthur knows he needs you, I reckon you'll be safe."

Tommy snorted, "Arthur knows he needs me, does he? That's news to Arthur I imagine."

"You just wound his pride is all, you need to make sure he knows what he's better at than you."

"What is he better at than me?"

"Well he's more pleasant for a start, more of a people person, you could say."

"More pleasant indeed!"

"Tommy!"

"Alright, alright – I'll think on how to heal Arthur's hurt pride."

"Well don't do it too much now, do it when you need to smooth over the transition."

"The transition eh?"

"For when he gives in and makes you the leader, officially."

"And when will that be?"

She shrugged and raised an eyebrow at him, "Whenever you've planned it to be I imagine, _Thomas._ "

Thomas. Sometimes she called him Thomas and it was very soft and sweet. And other times she called him Thomas and it was pointed and sarcastic. This was the one of those times.

"Alright _Rosalie_ ," he said, mimicking her tone, "I'll heed your advice."

"Just you see that you do Thomas," she replied breezily, "Arthur might need you, but I don't so you're not safe from me – and my gun skills are getting really quite good."

"Is that right?" he grinned and went to take his hand from her pocket to give her a smack, but she laced her fingers tightly through his and pulled it back down to the depths of the pocket before he could take it out.

He laughed and shook his head at her, squeezing her hand.

The truth was her gun skills were getting quite good. He had started her on small pistols, obviously, so there wasn't too much kick back, but she'd mastered it quickly and already moved up to something slightly larger.

They ducked into Harrisons, where the man said nothing about her hair, and bought Lily some sweets, which he presented the bab with upon their arrival home as an apology for not coming to get her before he went to get Rosie. She seemed unconcerned, having had rather a busy day accompanying Ada into town.

"Shh Lily," Ada cut across the girl as she started to respond to Tommy asking her what they'd done in town, "It was our secret girl's outing – he doesn't get to know."

Lily looked between him and his sister and he raised an eyebrow at Ada, but Ada's eyes were fixed on Rosie's – and another one of those wordless conversations that he didn't care for was happening between them.

"It's alright Lily," he told the baby, "I won't ask you to betray Ada's confidence about what you did on your secret girl's outing – but you remember you're my best girl, not Ada's best girl."

She giggled and Rosie flicked the back of his head as he crouched in front of Lily, shaking her head in amusement at him.

"Tommy's threatened you're going to like Ada more than you like him," she told Lily.

"Everyone should like me more than they like him, I'm much nicer," Ada said, rolling her eyes.

"We'll let her think that, eh Lily?" he said, standing up and bringing her up into his arms, "Now what are we having for dinner tonight my little love?"

"Pasta!" Lily replied, clearly excited.

"Pasta?"

"From your book."

"From my book?"

"Well, from Rosie's book that you got her."

"Oh, I see. Well I don't think I've ever eaten pasta Lily, have you?"

She shook her head, "Rosie says it's expensive."

He looked over to the redhead, who was deep in conversation with Ada, a smirk on her mouth and Ada giggling as she spoke in a whisper, waving her hands around.

"Oi," he said to them, and Rosie rolled her eyes at his sister before turning to him.

"Yes Mr Shelby? Master of the house? Demander of attention?" she asked sardonically

"You are asking for it, lady of the house," he replied, raising an eyebrow at her and smirking, "Isn't she Lily? Just asking for it!"

"Asking for what?" Lily asked him.

"For me to tickle her until she wets herself laughing," he told the child, who giggled.

"Rosie's a grown up, she doesn't do that."

"Ah maybe you're right Lily," he said, smirking between the sisters, "I'll find something else sufficiently grown up to annoy her with for when she annoys me. What can you think of that she doesn't like Lily?"

"Alice in Wonderland."

Tommy smiled, "Well, maybe I'll read Alice in Wonderland aloud every night at dinner for a week to annoy her, do you think that would work?"

"It would annoy her, but she wouldn't be very nice to you I don't think."

"No, I would certainly not be," Rosie cut in.

"Ah well, that would make me very sad Lily," he said, kissing the child's forehead and turning back to Rosie, "Now this bab tells me you're making pasta for dinner."

"Uhuh," she said, nodding.

"She said it's expensive."

"It is – you have to get it over in the Italian shops, I went yesterday afternoon."

"Do we need to review the food money?"

"No," she rolled her eyes, "I can budget just fine thank you – would you like to see my receipts?"

"No my darling, I just want to make sure you're not spending your own money buying fancy food to make things from that book," he replied, "You just make sure and tell me if you need more money in the food allowance."

Rosie smiled but shook her head and rolled her eyes at his concern, "I'm managing the money just fine – I come in a bit under most weeks, so it means I can do a fancy dinner from your book every couple of weeks or so when I've built up the extra. Plus half the time I get more than I pay for so I've started asking for less than I really need."

"Well, let me know if you need more – though the person in the bookshop said that book was for every day meals for a family, not fancy meals."

She grinned, "I think they're every day meals for a family who have a cook and a butler and maids."

"Couldn't even get the book right," he said, rolling his eyes, "I told you I don't know women's business."

"That's alright, I'm here and I'm far more clever than you," she told him, smirking and dodging through into the kitchen before he could reply.

"That sister of yours Lily, what an impudent little wench she can be, eh? Don't you be taking after her or you'll spend more time over my knee than you spend standing up."

Lily smiled at him and shook her head.

"That's my good girl," he said, bouncing her a little on his hip.

Since their discussion he had had no need to follow through on his threat of smacking her, she'd been on her best behaviour and had done what she was told when she was told most of the time. He'd raised an eyebrow at her once or twice when she snapped at her sister, which had resulted in a quick enough change of tone that he had been satisfied to leave it there.

"Shall we go see if Rosie needs any help in the kitchen?" he asked the baby.

"Oh see if _Rosie_ needs help," Ada said, smirking at him, "Not if the darling lady of the house needs help?"

"Shut up Ada!" called Rosie's voice from the kitchen, "Or I'll fill Tommy in on your girl's day and what you bought!"

"Don't you dare!" Ada cried, her hands going to her hips even though they were in separate rooms and Rosie couldn't see her.

"Don't be taking after Ada either, she's always heading for a good spanking," he said to Lily.

"Am not," Ada muttered.

"Oh, believe me love, you are," he told her, rolling his eyes but patting her head on his way by.

"Ada," he called over his shoulder, "Where's Finn? I didn't see him on the street on the way in?"

He put Lily down and pushed her lightly in the direction of the kitchen, so he could turn to look at his sister.

"Aunt Polly just said he was playing out," Ada shrugged in response.

"Well go see if you can find him for me, eh? And if he's playing about by the cut tell him I'm going to tan him when he gets home, I've told him before."

"When you were Finn's age you used to jump in the cut and race to the other side," Ada replied.

"Not when I was his age," Tommy lied, rolling his eyes at his sister and turning to walk through to the kitchen, "I was definitely older when I did that – and it was stupid back then too anyway and mum had me over it a few times so don't be pulling that card on me."

He stopped and turned back, his eyes piercing his sister, "And how do you know that anyway?"

Tommy had been twelve when Ada was born, there was no way she r _emembered_ him doing it.

"Arthur told me," she replied quickly.

Perhaps a little too quickly. He filed it away to ask Arthur.

Though they _had_ used to jump in the cut and swim across – him and Arthur and John. Along with Freddie Thorne. And Lovelock, Scudboat, Nipper and Danny – back when he'd been just Danny and not Danny Whizzbang. And all the boys they'd run around with who didn't come back from France.

The girls used to watch them, squealing and covering their eyes. That was how John had met Martha in the first place, when she'd been there as part of a group of girls – one of whom had been sweet on one of them. He couldn't remember which of them it had been though, it was so long ago. Another lifetime, when their biggest concern was that their mother _would_ have them if she found out – but it had been worth risking it to impress the neighbourhood girls.

And how easy they had been to impress back then. He tried to imagine Ada being impressed by anyone winning a race across the cut and he nearly laughed aloud. He could just see her face if anyone suggested that was something to be impressed by. Far from going down by the cut to watch, she'd be moaning that her shoes would get ruined.

He supposed she could have heard about it from anyone in the shop really – it might be worth asking who had told her just to hear what face she'd pulled in response to their daring childhood bravery.

"Well go see if you can track him down, I've half a mind to tan him anyway – if he told Polly he was playing out then he knows fine well we think he's on the street somewhere, not out of it without coming in to ask if he can go," he told his sister.

"He might have told Polly and she just didn't tell me."

Tommy raised an eyebrow, "Will I go down to number seventeen and ask Polly where she thinks he is?"

Ada shrugged, "It's Finn's neck, not mine, what do I care?"

He rolled his eyes, "You should look out for one another more. Just away and find him Ada, tell him Rosie's making a fancy dinner, so he needs to get home now."

She grumbled; but went when he raised an eyebrow at her.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

As it turned out, Finn _was_ playing by the cut and Ada dobbed him in as soon as they came through the door – though Tommy had an instinct that was about creating a distraction for his benefit so that he would forget about the secrecy of her girl's trip into town and whatever it was she'd bought that she didn't want Rosie to tell him about.

He opted not to tan his brother, as he'd threatened, and settled instead for smacking the boy about the kitchen a bit and then telling him he was coming straight home after church the next day and not coming to Charlie's yard to meet the horse. He didn't get the impression Finn was all that bothered about not meeting the horse, especially given Tommy hadn't mentioned about the horse's arrival to anyone but their Uncle Charlie; but his own enjoyment of Saturday nights spent on the sofa with Rosie wasn't something he was willing to sully by having to go to the effort of punishing Finn properly.

That was how he found himself the next day in his Uncle Charlie's yard with Rosie and Lily, whilst Polly had taken Finn and Ada home and said she'd deal with lunch for them. On the back of this, he'd asked Lily if she wanted to go for lunch at the tea rooms in town after they met the horse – which she was delighted at the prospect of, and he prayed that the tearooms would be open on a Sunday.

Far from Finn's disinterested attitude, Lily was squirming with excitement in his arms at the prospect of meeting the horse. It was all probably made more exciting by the idea of Finn being excluded from it as a punishment painting it as a great treat to her little mind – and it helped her mood that she had had a great reception upon arrival from their Uncle and Curly, who had both made it seem like her visiting the yard was the highlight of their week. To be fair, it probably was.

"Right Lily, I'm going to put you down here," Tommy said, placing her gently onto her feet, "And you need to stay here while I open up the stall until I come back for you and bring you over to meet him, alright?"

She nodded, her wide eyes focussed on the door of the stall he had stabled Monaghan Boy in. Rosie stood a little further back and he exchanged a smile with her over the excitement of the child, though he found himself second guessing his own actions when he glanced back and contrasted the size of Lily in person against the size of the thoroughbred he could hear snorting through the door. But he'd brought her now and there was no going back.

As soon as the door was opened the child's restraint also gave way and, despite his instructions, she ran forward - and Tommy's heart stopped for a moment.

"Lily!" he shouted – actually shouted, which wasn't like him – and he threw the door back over and, in a few long strides, caught the six-year-old who was racing in his direction with a single arm around her waist.

He didn't even stop to think about what he was doing next, he simply lifted her off the ground over his left arm, swept up the back of her coat and dress and delivered four fairly solid smacks to her backside before setting her back on her feet in front of him.

He crouched to meet her eyes and held her tightly, both of his hands wrapped around her small upper arms and shook her slightly as he spoke, "I told you - you stay back. You could get killed, do you understand? You don't disobey me in the yard! It's too dangerous!"

There was a silence between them for a split second whilst she stared back at him as he looked angrily into her eyes and then her delayed wail rang out, as he had known it would.

The sound dissolved his anger and he sighed.

"Lily…" he began trying to talk to her - but trailed off.

She was crying too hard to even hear him right now, so he loosened his grip on her and pulled her to him instead, trying to cuddle her and soothe her now that his heartbeat was returning to normal; but he wasn't entirely surprised when she was snatched from his arms by her sister, who picked her up and held her to her chest, bouncing her and stroking her hair and kissing her head, all the while glaring at Tommy over the child's shoulder.

He exhaled heavily through his nose, widened his eyes at the ground then returned her gaze, bringing himself slowly from his crouch to his normal height.

"We had a deal Thomas," she hissed at him, "You don't go off like that without a discussion."

"Oh! So you'd rather I'd let her get trampled by the horse then?" he hissed back, both of them acutely aware that they didn't want the still wailing child to be aware of their own fight.

"Of course I don't," she scoffed, "But you cannot-"

"I can, and I will where safety is concerned, Rosalie," he snapped quietly back, mimicking the use of the formal first names.

"You call me that right now and I'll knock your teeth out Thomas," she retorted.

"You try it and I'll leather your arse," he assured her.

She glared at him, then began, in an impassioned whisper, "Thomas Shelby, you are a complete fucking-" but she was cut off by Charlie reaching them where they stood bickering and interrupting them to speak to Lily.

"Lily my little love," he offered, reaching out to stroke her exposed leg that was bent around her older sister's waist, "What's the matter with you?"

She turned her head, towards him, away from Tommy so he couldn't gauge the look on her face, but he heard her wobbly voice tell Charlie, "Tommy – Tommy smack – Tommy smacked me!" then dissolve into a fresh set of wails.

"He did not?" Charlie asked her, his face very serious in consideration of her plight.

Charlie had always been good at appearing to take them seriously, even when they were kids. He'd always appreciated it. 

"He did," Rosie muttered, responding for her sister.

"Ah now, what did he go and do a thing like that for to you my little chicken?" Charlie cooed at Lily.

Tommy couldn't see but his uncle's hands had moved to her face and he presumed he was wiping away the new tears that had come with the new wave of wailing.

"She didn't stay put where she was told and nearly went under t'horse," Tommy grumbled loudly, ensuring that the two sisters weren't going to entirely tell the tale of the events.

"There now, you see," Charlie told the little girl, "You gave him a fright and he thought you might get hurt – so he gave you a little hurt now to make you mind him and save you from a bigger hurt later. Means that next time you come back you don't forget what he said, and you don't end up with broken bones."

"I don't think I want to come back," she sniffed.

"Now don't you be upsetting me and Curly by not coming back," Charlie chided gently, "If every child that got smacked in this yard refused to return to it we'd be left all alone and we'd get our work done quickly and be bone idle most of the day! Curly and me likes the distraction."

She didn't say anything in response and Charlie came closer to her and whispered, conspiratorially, "Hey, you know how I know you'll be fine even though it doesn't feel so much like it right now?"

He saw Lily shake her head.

"Because see Tommy over there? He got more smacks in this yard than every other kid put together – and he'd bawl something awful about it too when he caught them – but he recovered. And other than the fact he's a grumpy git at times, he's turned out not so bad overall, don't you think?"

She turned her head then to look at Tommy, her mouth slightly open, a question in her eyes.

He looked to Charlie, back to Lily, up to Rosie, who merely raised an eyebrow at him, then back to Lily again.

He threw his hands up, "Lily I wouldn't put you through anything I didn't know what it was to be on the receiving end of," he told her. He'd thought that was bloody obvious.

She shifted her head back to look at Charlie. Tommy's insides clenched. She still didn't want to talk to him.

"You know, someone did tell me once that Tommy Shelby wasn't always the utter delight he is now," Rosie said, a smirk on her lips. The words were aimed at her sister and his uncle, but her eyes met his. He rolled his own at her.

"You come here to Uncle Charlie," Charlie said, holding his hands out to Lily, who agreed to be passed over.

Charlie settled the child on his hip and Rosie crossed her now free arms. Tommy inched closer to her, trying to guess how receptive she would be to him at the moment. She didn't give any indication and he knew he was not forgiven, but the smirk had told him he would be – at some point. He just wasn't sure when that would be.

"So, go on then Charlie," Rosie said, still not looking at Tommy, "Tell us some of the highlights."

Ah, so he was to be forgiven after a little humiliation. He could cope with that. He pretended otherwise though, rolling his eyes and crossing back to the stable, opening the door so he could head into the stall - where he could hear them but stand with his back to them if he wanted to. Give the impression he was suitably mortified, as she wanted him to be.

"Well, you see now, Tommy wasn't an inherently bad kid, he had his mother's common sense but his father's devilment, as Aunt Polly says, and they did battle in him all the time. He was much more impulsive when he was your age than he is now, Lily. And he wasn't as smart as you, so he didn't learn," Tommy heard Charlie tell the child.

He grabbed a brush off the wall, a brush Charlie himself had definitely whacked Tommy with himself a few times and started running it through the beast's coat.

"He liked sleeping out, did our Tommy. Probably the Gypsy in him, but he'd forget to tell anyone he was going to - so this one morning I get to the yard and he's couried in next to one of the horses, fast asleep."

"What's couried in?" Lily asked.

"Cuddled in," Tommy shouted, his back still turned, "It's Scottish. Uncle Charlie likes to collect words that aren't his – though that particular phrase was stolen in the first place. Some Irish Gypsy brought it to us after he'd been in Scotland for a bit."

An Irish Gypsy with red hair, he remembered. He glanced sideways over at Rosie, whose eyes were on Charlie. Only bloody red head in Small Heath. Irish fire underneath that quiet outer shell. If there was a way to prove those odds, he'd take the gamble.

"Yeah, so he was all cuddled in beside the horse and I didn't think much of it – just left him there and got on with my morning - until a bit later when his mother arrived, crying her eyes out that she'd been looking for him half the night and did I think he'd drowned in the cut and would I take a boat out and look. And I told her he wasn't stupid enough to get himself drowned in the cut and that he was in the stable. She'd obviously been making enough noise he'd half woken up anyway and when I unlatched the stable door he sort of blinked up at her – had those eyelashes even back then – and smiled like the baby Jesus from the manger and says 'Hi mum' and reaches out to wave at her. Well, she grabs that outstretched hand and hauls him to his feet, then lays down a fine volley of smacks on him, and him dancing about, shrieking the whole time trying to twist out from under her and using the hand she wasn't holding to try and cover his backside – which just led to her reddening his legs for him."

Tommy grinned in spite of himself as Charlie told the story. Baby Jesus in the manger indeed. He might have passed for a changeling child left by the devil instead, but Tommy was fairly sure he'd never have passed for the baby Jesus. He remembered trying to jump out of the way of his mother's hand that time, and he remembered being marched back through Small Heath with the back of his legs all red, advertising to what had felt at the time like the whole world, that he'd just caught himself a smacking. But he also remembered his mother giving Arthur a good clatter when she noticed him laughing at Tommy's predicament and promising him the same if he didn't get out from under her feet and find something to do. John had still been a baby then. He didn't remember where his father had been. Presumably gone, because when was their father not gone?

"Then what happened?" Lily asked Charlie, her face shocked.

"Ah, then she held him to her and cried into him that he'd given her such a fright to disappear without telling her where he was going and that she'd been worried sick. And that set him off crying too – he was always sensitive y'see, just like he is now. That's why he got upset and smacked you when you gave him a fright, because it scares him bad. Just like he scared her. And he said he was sorry and he wouldn't do it again and she hugged him tight and said good, and then she gave him a good belt and dragged him out of the stable and pointed at all the bits of wood lying around and said if he ever did it again she'd put him over her knee right in the middle of the yard and tan his hide with the biggest bit of wood she could find."

"And did he do it again?" Rosie asked, an amused note in her voice that suggested she knew the answer fine well.

Tommy bit his tongue to keep from answering her himself.

"He did indeed, the devilment won over the common sense that time. Not like you Lily, because you'll remember you stay where you're told to stay when there's horses about, won't you?" Charlie asked.

"Yes, Uncle Charlie," she mumbled.

"Good girl," he replied, "Not like silly old Tommy over there."

"Silly young Tommy," Tommy called over his shoulder, "Old Tommy uses his brains."

Rosie snorted derisively, but she didn't say anything.

"Well silly young Tommy then," Charlie said to Lily, "Who didn't use his brains, he did it again. And when I saw him in the stable I thought of making myself scarce, because I didn't fancy being around for it – but I hoped maybe this time he'd remembered to tell his mother where he was off too. Knew I was wrong as soon as I saw her marching towards me across the yard. I nodded to the stable and she grimaced at me and said 'Get me a stool, Charlie and a bit of wood big enough he can feel it and small enough I can hold it.' I half thought of trying to talk her out of it, but Tommy's mother was a strong woman – three of you at that time, right?" he called over to Tommy.

He turned around, to confirm, "Yup, that was when I was seven or just turned eight, John'd have been about three, maybe four, then. Ada wasn't born till I was twelve."

He stayed turned around then, and hung the brush back up, but he leant against the wall, watching from a distance as Charlie finished the story, his eyes on Lily.

"So - she had three kids at this point, three boys, and you know boys are worse than girls, right?" Charlie said to the child, who nodded solemnly in response.

He smiled slightly at the seriousness of the child, who really could know nothing of the sort, and chanced a glance at her sister. Rosie must have felt his eyes on her because she met them. Her arms were still crossed, but he got the ghost of a half smile.

"And women are much stronger willed than men, so I didn't think I had a chance of convincing her not to tan him in the middle of the yard like she had promised, so I just got her what she asked for."

"Traitor," Tommy grinned at his uncle.

"I'd be traitor to you before I'd be traitor to your mother, she'd of had my head off quicker," Charlie answered with a smile, then looked back to Lily, "Anyway she puts that stool down so she's sitting facing the stable and she's the first thing he sees when he comes to and opens the door, and when he does and he realises exactly what's about to happen his face falls like something out the pictures. And I see him looking around, thinking he can make a run for it, but she just looks at him, points at a spot in front of her and says 'here, now' in a tone that sent shivers down my spine. And he did what he was told but did it so slowly – you've never seen him move so slowly. And she asks him if he remembers what she told him last time he came and slept here without telling her where he was going, and he nods, all slow like because he knows he's sealing his fate, and she says 'Right then, let's get it done,' and puts him over her knee and sets about giving him the spanking of his young life."

Lily's eyes were round and fixed on Tommy, who nodded and said, "Didn't eat my dinner sitting down for a long time after that."

"Did she hit you with the wood?" Lily asked.

"She did – made me go collect it from him too," Tommy relied, rolling his eyes, "Let me up at what I was stupid enough to think was the end and told me to go ask my Uncle Charlie for the bloody thing. He'd busied himself on the other side of the yard by this point-"

"Hurt my heart to hear you crying out Tommy."

"Yeah, well, I didn't do it again after that, did I? Didn't put my mother through hell wondering where I'd gone to. I brought her back the bloody bit of wood and she's standing up at this point - she yanks down everything I had on below the waist, takes the thing off of me, bends me over and holds me there under her arm all in about three seconds before I could even realise it. Next thing I'm pinned there so I can't move, and she blisters my bare arse for the viewing pleasure of anyone who was in the vicinity. Can't say I blame her looking back but I didn't care for it much at the time."

"Bloody hell!" Lily exclaimed, sounding exactly like Arthur.

"Lily!" Rosie admonished as Tommy snorted.

Charlie tapped her mouth with his finger and said, "Don't you be using their words – you find better words. And don't let your Aunt Polly hear you repeating their words if you're going to, or you'll find yourself getting your mouth washed out with soap."

"And I can also confirm I didn't care for that much either when it happened to me," Tommy said, deciding then to cross the distance back over, though he came to stand nearer Rosie, still giving Lily her space in Charlie's arms.

"Were you a bad boy Tommy?" Lily asked.

"Sometimes," he replied with a smile.

"Ah he wasn't any worse than any other boys from round here," Charlie told her, "In fact sometimes he could be quite a sweet child, do you know-"

Tommy tuned his Uncle out as he began to have his praises sung.

"So," he muttered to the redhead, who turned from listening to Charlie and raised an eyebrow in response, "Have I been sufficiently punished now that we've relived one of the most embarrassing moments of my life?"

"Hmmm," she replied, "I'll think about it."

He rolled his eyes skywards, "Heaven help me."

"Heaven doesn't want anything to do with you Thomas Shelby," she replied smartly.

He closed the small gap between them and ran his fingers along her ribs, where she was ticklish, and she laughed in spite of herself and elbowed him, "Geroff me."

He placed a hand on her lower back then, a still hand, and pressed a kiss to her hair, desperate for the non-physical gap between them to be closed too. She froze against his touch, but he presumed it was from shock. His hand she was probably becoming accustomed to, but he hadn't pressed his lips to her since that night in January when he'd given her his promise.

"Right, Lily, do you want to come meet the horse – safely this time?" he said to the child, interrupting whatever story Charlie was telling her.

She looked at him, then looked back at Charlie, her arms still around his neck and said, "Hmmm."

Tommy bit his lip to keep from laughing at said to Rosie, "Now that's you she's picked that up from. Bloody hmm. Very rude."

She snorted, "As opposed to what you do when you just entirely ignore anything that gets asked that you don't want to answer, as though no one spoke in the first place?"

"You are very rude sometimes Tommy, Aunt Polly said so," Lily piped up suddenly.

"Did she indeed?" Tommy replied, "All these strong-willed women and their opinions, eh Charlie?"

"Don't drag me into it, Tommy, I'm still more scared of them than I am of you."

"That's because you've got a good brain in your head Charlie. Maybe you should take the lead from one of those strong-willed women, Lily, give Tommy a good smack next time you see him being rude," Rosie suggested, a wicked smile on her face. She caught Tommy's eyes, "Seems fair, doesn't it?" she asked, flicking her eyebrows.

He shook his head incredulously at her, running his tongue over his lower lip to stop from laughing.

"Can I Tommy?" Lily asked.

He looked from the older sister to the younger, who was smiling suddenly and sitting up straighter in his uncle's arms. Well, if that final sacrifice of his dignity was what it was going to take.

"Fine, but you get one smack and once you spend it it's gone forever, so you think carefully about when you want to use it," he told her, raising an eyebrow. She smiled, and he decided to push his luck and hold out his arms to her, "So, do you want to come meet the horse now?"

She acquiesced this time and Charlie passed her over, and he carried her over to the stallion. Rosie followed behind them but stayed clear of the horse and learnt up against the wall. She didn't seem keen on the animal in the slightest.

"Now you can touch him but be very careful," he said, stroking the horses nose to show Lily the right action, and she reached out and copied him, "Good girl, now - don't go any further down than this or you get too near his mouth and he's got big teeth."

"Would he bite me?" she asked, seemingly surprised at the idea.

"If he thought you were going to hurt him. Or if he thought you would taste good, maybe I'll have a nibble and I can tell him if you don't," Tommy said, pressing a kiss to her cheek and pretending he was going to bite.

She giggled and pulled her face away.

"Nah, not so good after all. But then what tastes good to him and what tastes good to me mightn't be the same thing, so you still keep away from those teeth," he reported back to her, then moved slowly round.

"You see his eyes, you make sure to avoid them too – you wouldn't like it if someone came along and poked you in the eye, would you?"

"No," she replied, shaking her head and reaching out to stroke the horse again, carefully avoiding the eyes and running her fingers down his neck.

"Now, Lily, I want you to have a think and tell me if you understand something, okay?" he pressed on as she stroked the horse.

"What?" she asked him, not looking away from the animal.

"You look at his eyes eh?" he pointed with his free hand that wasn't wrapped around her at the eyes in question, "You see how high up they are. You can see that his eyes are taller than me, right?"

"Yes Tommy."

"So you know sometimes when you step on a spider or a bug, or even in a puddle because you don't see it?"

"Yeah?"

"That's why he might step on you – because he's so tall and you're so small to him that he wouldn't see you. He doesn't mean to hurt you, but he doesn't realise you're there. That's why you need to stay where I tell you when we're around horses, alright?"

"Yes Tommy."

"That's why I got such a fright when you ran forward, I thought you might end up under his big hoofs. Take a look down at them, eh Lily?" He stepped back so he could point down to them, "And they've got heavy metal shoes on them too. I wasn't exaggerating when I said that could get you killed, or you could end up in hospital with broken bones. Horses are lovely animals, but they're dangerous. And I would be heartsore if anything happened to you, Lily - we all would be. You're everybody's favourite, so you're very important to us. Do you understand?"

She began to cry again then, soft little wails and he worried he might have gone too far.

"Hey, hey, Lily, it's okay," he murmured, wiping away the tears that were starting to fall, "I'm not trying to make you cry, I'm just trying to make you understand why you need to do as you're told."

"I'm – I'm sorry I g-gave you a f-fright Tommy," she blubbered.

"I know, I know you are," he said, keeping his voice soft and bouncing her slightly on his hip, "And it's okay because you've been punished. I'm sorry if I gave you a fright when I came down on you Lily, but I'm not sorry I gave you those smacks – Charlie's right, it was a little hurt now to make you listen and do as you're told so you didn't get a bigger hurt from the horse, eh?"

She nodded.

"Good girl," he said, kissing her cheek again, "And you don't need to cry or be sorry, because I know you're sorry and you've been smacked for it, so it's done, and we move on, eh? That was the deal between us. Same as all the other kids. Same as when I got my smacks for sleeping out without telling my mother where I was going and worrying her sick, I was forgiven - and it was fine until I was stupid enough to go doing it again and then I was thrashed for making the same mistake twice. But you're much more clever than I was back then, so you won't do that, will you?"

She shook her head.

"Good. That's very good. And that's why you're my favourite girl, Lily, cause you're clever and-"

"I'm your best girl," she cut across him, sniffing, "Rosie's your favourite girl, Aunt Polly says so."

"Lily!" Rosie cut in sharply.

"Aunt Polly says so does she?" he repeated back to the child, ignoring her sister's protest.

"Uh-huh," Lily said, nodding.

"Well, Polly is never wrong about matters of the heart," he conceded to her, "Rosie might be my favourite grown up girl. But you're my favourite little girl as well as my best girl."

She smiled at that, clearly pleased at the accolade.

He glanced over at Rosie, who was standing with her face entirely impassive, wondering if she'd say anything. But, of course, she didn't.

He did notice, however, that when they were sitting to dinner that night, he got a rather large helping of the Victoria sponge she baked when they went home that afternoon – though she did insist it was being baked only because Lily was so disappointed that the tea rooms didn't open on Sundays and was absolutely not being baked because she knew he liked it.


	29. Chapter 29

The following Saturday, Tommy walked Rosie to work in the morning before collecting Monaghan Boy from the yard and riding him bareback to Garrison Courts, taking care to go slowly and take the long way there and back. As he had hoped, the streets were busy and by the time he had put the horse in its box an hour or so later and it had been collected to go back to its rider, word had already spread.

Rosie had taken dinner round to John's on Wednesday – dragging Lily with her to get things sorted once and for all between her and Katie and seeming to succeed in her endeavour when she told them she'd clatter them both if they didn't play nicely together. Tommy had rolled his eyes at the ceiling. It had been about six weeks since Christmas and he, Rosie, Polly and even John had been trying to subtly get the two girls to talk to one another again – and all their efforts had been in vain until Rosie had threatened them.

"Would you have clattered them?" he asked mildly once the two of them disappeared out the back door.

She snorted and shook her head, "Don't be ridiculous Thomas."

She had busied herself with the cooking of the pie she'd made, and Tommy had given John a heads up that he shouldn't offer great odds on Monaghan Boy for the following Monday, but that he wanted people to bet on the horse.

John narrowed his eyes for a minute, trying to figure out what Tommy was up to, then gave up, grinned and said, "Aye alright Tom, whatever you say – as long as she keeps up this supply of fittle."

"Sometimes I think you only like me for my food John Shelby," Rosie had said with a smirk.

"Ah not the case Rosie girl, but if Tommy thinks anyone's being too complimentary about you he gets all on edge – more trouble than it's worth."

Other than John, Tommy hadn't told anyone at the shop what he was doing, and he steeled himself for a confrontation between him and that hurt pride of Arthur's as he headed home to check in with John about how the book had been affected by his actions.

Finn and Lily were in the kitchen when he arrived home – Ada was nowhere to be seen – and when he walked through the door Finn jumped to his feet and made a great effort to throw something on the fire, evidently hoping he wouldn't see.

"Finn?" he probed, crossing the kitchen to see what was going on.

"Arthur's mad as hell," Lily told him, in a clear effort to distract him from what Finn had been doing.

He noticed Finn give her a small smile and he fought his own smile as he picked up the cigarette butt from where Finn had thrown it on the floor - his little brother's panicked flail to get it in the fire obviously having failed - and presented it to the boy with a raised eyebrow before he threw it in the fire himself. The cut last Saturday and a cigarette this Saturday… The boy hadn't had a proper hiding since Ada's birthday – and Tommy knew himself in terms of the time frames of eleven-year-old boys, that would feel like years ago to Finn now. Still, he didn't have it in him to do it today. He'd wait till the boy was found by the cut again without permission – though that probably wasn't going to take too long.

"What does a six-year-old know about hell?" he asked Lily, smacking Finn gently on the head with his cap and fixing his brother's rumpled collar.

"Well John said he was," Lily replied.

"Ah I imagine he is Lily – and it was all that sister of yours' idea and now I'll be the one getting it in the ear from Arthur."

"Is Rosie in trouble?" Finn asked.

"No one's in trouble," Tommy told the kids, "At least not yet, not unless I catch them smoking again."

Finn squirmed a little under his gaze, which was a good sign.

"Where's Aunt Polly?"

"Gone to town, she said we'd be fine with Ada."

"And where's Ada?"

"Getting ready," Lily replied.

"Getting ready for what?"

She shrugged, "She's staying at someone's house tonight."

"Oh, is she indeed?" he asked.

Lily nodded uncertainly, and Tommy rolled his eyes, shaking his head but smiling at the child, making sure she knew he wasn't annoyed with her for letting him know.

He felt he should be riled by this – she hadn't even mentioned it to him never mind asked his permission, but she had been staying at her friends' houses a lot recently on Saturday nights and Rosie, he was sure, would have told him if anything was amiss.

Besides, he'd told everyone to keep an eye out in the pubs on Saturday nights and to come to the house immediately if his sister was ever seen in one – which she hadn't been, yet. It wasn't technically illegal (though there was noise happening to make changes in parliament and introduce a minimum age of eighteen to buy alcohol in a pub) but he'd told Ada she had to wait till she was sixteen - and that even then one of them would be going with her.

He was well aware she'd flout his decree – it was a when rather than an if – and he was quite convinced Finn had most likely attained that cigarette from the stash Ada didn't think he knew she had. But, until she was officially caught, if she and her friends were spending their Saturday nights staying at one another's houses to smoke cigarettes they saved up their pocket money for and drink whatever they could pilfer from someone's unsuspecting parents – well, it was more innocent than what he'd been up to at fifteen and if she was going to black out and get a hangover, he'd rather she did it at a friend's house than on the street.

And, apart from anything else, if Ada was away for the night that meant a quiet house and a quiet night on the sofa with Rosie and Lily and maybe Finn, depending on what his little brother's plans were for the evening. Finn didn't raise his eyebrows or seem to think anything of it when Tommy slipped her arm around Rosie's waist or her head rested on his shoulder – and Tommy was pleased with the bond that had been steadily developing between Finn and Lily ever since the debacle at Ada's birthday. They had started standing up for one another in small ways and looking out for one another – which was exactly what he wanted to see happen.

He left the two of them in the kitchen, pushing his way into the shop - leaving the doors open behind him so he could keep an eye out in case Finn had any more cigarettes on him and was stupid enough to light one up with him in the next room.

Saturdays were always busy, and the shop was loud with staff and customers shouting over one another. Still, John had obviously been waiting for his arrival because his brother noticed him and shouted for his attention almost as soon as he entered the shop, even though Tommy had his head bent – checking the details on slips being handled on the desks, trying to see who was betting on what.

"Tommy! Tommy!" John jumped down from where he'd been chalking the odds up on the board at the end of the room, "Tommy look at the book," he said, picking it up from the desk and showing it to him, "Just look!"

"Tommy!" Arthur's voice demanded from behind him, but Tommy ignored his older brother, smiling as his eyes took in the writing on the pages John proffered to him.

"All on Monaghan Boy," John said, running his finger down the list.

Tommy clapped his younger brother on the shoulder, "Good work John," he said, patting his back before finally giving into his older brother's demands.

"Tommy!" Arthur was still shouting, and Tommy met his eyes, "Get in 'ere - now!"

He did his best not to roll his eyes at his brother's attempt at dominating him and followed him into his office, closing the door behind him to feign some kind of deference – as if he was aware Arthur was about to chew him out and he didn't want the rest of the office to hear. Also figuring if he had to bite back at Arthur then he didn't want the rest of the office hearing that either.

His brother seemed to believe his humility, sitting behind his desk whilst Tommy opted to lean on the wall and pouring himself a drink without offering Tom one.

"You was seen doing to powder trick down at Garrison Courts," Arthur opened the conversation.

Tommy echoed Rosie's words to his brother, "Times are hard, people need a reason to lay a bet."

Arthur picked up his glass, "There was a Chinese."

Tommy inclined his head slightly, "The washer women say she's a witch – it helps them believe."

_It doesn't matter what you do or don't have – people believe it. You know the power of reputation Tommy._

"We don't mess with Chinese," Arthur said.

His brother was drunk, and a state. Flailing over his desk. Maybe Finn hadn't taken the cigarette from Ada's stash after all, maybe Arthur had bloody well handed him it without even thinking.

"Look at the book-" he began, but his brother cut over him, slamming his fist down on the desk.

"Chinese have cutters of their own."

"We agreed Arthur," Tommy said, shaking his head slightly in disgust, "I'm taking charge of drumming up new money."

"What if Monaghan Boy wins, Tommy?" Arthur said, rubbing the hand he'd slammed on the desk – whether from pain or nerves, Tommy couldn't quite tell.

Perhaps both.

"You fixing races now?" Arthur continued, "Do you have permission from Billy Kimber to be fixing races, hmm? What's got into you? You think we can take on the Chinese and Billy Kimber?"

So that was why Polly had taken off into town – because she had figured out what he was up to and had let slip to Arthur and now she didn't want to be in the middle of it.

Arthur had been nearly mumbling, quiet, but suddenly he started shouting, "Billy's got a bloody army-"

Arthur's shouting would penetrate the glass of his office and, well, Rosie had been right – Tommy did know the power of reputation. He didn't need Arthur making a fool of himself with a full shop looking on, so he cut him off.

"I think, Arthur, that's what I do," he crossed closer to his brother, hoping the words, taken from the drunken confession Arthur had made at Christmas might stir in his mind as being his own desires, "I think. So that you don't have to."

He turned and began to walk away.

"There's news from Belfast," Arthur said to his back.

Tommy opened the door, not responding. Did Arthur honestly think _he_ was going to give Tommy news. Did Arthur honestly think Tommy didn't know more about what was going on than he did? Was his brother truly that fucking delusional? Tommy walked out, before he said something he'd regret.

Arthur followed him and shouted across the room, "I'm calling a family council tonight at eight o'clock. I want all of us there."

Tommy balled his hands into fists and walked away, back into the kitchen. Bloody family council on a Saturday night. That was his night. And Arthur knew it – they had all noticed that Tommy didn't come to the Garrison on a Saturday anymore and that, when he did, it was much later than usual.

"You hear me?" Arthur shouted after him, "There's trouble coming."

Fucking Arthur, announcing family councils for the whole shop to hear.

And there was fucking trouble coming, but Arthur didn't know the half of it – and didn't need to know either.

"Arthur!" Ada's voice came on the stairs, clearly having heard the commotion, "Arthur do I need to be there?"

Tommy took the steps back to the door way to point his finger at Ada, "Yes Ada, you fucking do," he told her. If he was having his night spoiled she could have hers spoiled too. Plus he wanted Rosie there and having one without the other would just give Ada ammunition to use against him at some other point.

"Tommy!" Ada whined – and he noticed her face was covered in make up.

Presumably that was what she had been buying on her secret girl's trip last Saturday, lipstick and whatever the stuff on her eyes was called.

"I'm not discussing it – you'll be there," he told her, then shut the shop doors over, rubbing his eyes with his hands in frustration.

He felt a pair of small arms thread around his waist and he removed his hand and smiled down at the child's attempt at comforting him, "There's my best girl."

"Do I need to be there Tommy?" she asked, obviously having heard what had been said.

"No bab, you and Finn are too young to be bothered with the boring stuff like that," he told her, "Besides, you really should be in bed by eight o'clock."

"I don't go to bed till after that Tommy," she giggled.

He picked her up onto his hip and laid a kiss on her forehead, feeling his frustration with Arthur ebb away as he held her, "Oh I know you don't you little troublemaker, I'm just saying when you should be in bed by. Finn's supposed to be in bed by nine and he's nearly double your age. I think we're going to have to have a look at the bedtimes in this house."

"Tom-myyyyy," she whined.

"Lilyyyyy," he whined back in imitation.

"I don't want to go to bed by eight o'clock," she said, kicking her heels into him.

"Well unfortunately for you my love it's not up to you, it's up to me and your sister."

"I'm telling Rosie I don't want to go to bed by eight o'clock then."

"Well you do that Lily, I'll tell her my thoughts too and we'll see what happens."

She grumbled, so he bounced her a little until she smiled and laid her lead down on his shoulder, contented again. Her little moodswings mainly came and went as quickly as that most of the time – and he thought an earlier bed time being enforced might stop the escalations that did occur.

"Finn, why don't you go see what George is up to? Since Ada's clearly not looking after you anyway – just make sure and be back here for half five, eh?"

Finn shrugged, but got off the seat and made to head out.

"And Finn," Tommy shouted after his younger brother, "You stay in Watery Lane, y'hear me? Between the cut last weekend and that cigarette you are on your last warning kid – you understand?"

The door banged behind his younger brother, who had most definitely at least heard the first part of his sentence and decided to ignore it. Tommy clicked his tongue. If Lily hadn't been in his arms he'd have gone after Finn and dragged him to make sure he listened, albeit he'd have been listening with a freshly thickened ear. But Lily was in his arms, and there was a while to go yet before it was time to go for Rosie.

"Hey, Lily?"

"Uhuh?"

"Why don't we go to the tearoom today, just you and me since it was shut last Sunday when I said I'd take you?"

"Oh, can we Tommy?" she asked, kicking her heels into him but from excitement this time.

"Of course we can my little love – just you and me - and we'll get some cake for Rosie too, then we'll go get her from work, how does that sound?"

She nodded and squeezed her arms round his neck in response.


	30. Chapter 30

"Ah so that Tommy's gone and ruined your appetite with an afternoon of cake, is that what you're telling me?" Rosie asked her sister with a smile as she sat the child on her hip, having listened to Lily babble excitedly about their afternoon at the tearooms.

"That's what men are supposed to contribute to a child's upbringing though isn't it? The ruination of appetites with too much sugar and the presence behind the threat of 'You wait till your father gets home'," Tommy said with a grin over Lily's head.

Rosie rolled her eyes, "Neither of those factors are ones I care to have at play in the upbringing of this particular child."

He noticed she didn't comment on the fact that he wasn't Lily's father.

"Ah well, I imagine she'll find an appetite for some chips from the shop, won't you sweetheart?" he said to the child, who nodded.

"Fish and chips for tea?" Rosie asked him, "Special occasion is it Tommy?"

He stuffed his hands in his pocket. When he held Lily, he could do it with one arm around her just fine – Rosie could only manage on one arm for so long and when she carried the child any distance further than from the front room up to her bed she needed the strength of both arms. He wished Lily was on his hip, so that he'd have been able to slip his hand into Rosie's in her pocket.

He knew what she was referring to – the last time they'd gone for fish and chips it had been the time they'd had the house to themselves. He felt his smile disappear from his face.

"Special occasion, but not of the joyful kind," he replied with a frown, "Arthur's called a family meeting so they'll all be descending for eight."

"A family meeting at eight o'clock on a Saturday night?" she said, her voice hardening.

"I know," he replied, rolling his eyes.

"Does that Arthur realise I've got a child who needs bathed on a Saturday evening because your bloody aunt insists on dragging us all to church of a Sunday?" she snapped, "And Finn needs the kitchen for his bath too. Bloody taking over at eight o'clock on Saturday evenings, honest to god! You get him told Thomas or I'll be having words with him myself!"

"Never you mind having words with him, leave him for me."

"Are you going to deal with it?" she asked, an eyebrow raised.

"Darling, I have no intentions of letting him muscle in on our Saturday nights, but I did the thing with the horse this morning – on your advice might I remind you - so I'm letting him get his pride back by letting him shit on tonight – but it'll only be tonight."

"Hmm," she replied, her eyes narrowed at him.

He noticed she also didn't comment on his use of 'our' in reference to their shared Saturday evening routine.

He knew she wasn't really annoyed at him as such, though he did half think about calling in on Arthur and telling him where he could shove the meeting when he had to endure her taking her frustrations out on every surface or door she could bang or slam as she transferred their loot from the chip shop onto plates once they were back at the house.

Ada joined her in the kitchen and after they had exchanged some pointed looks, his sister decided the slamming and banging would suit her just fine as a way of making her feelings on the matter known too and between them they were quite the untuned orchestra – with a chorus of "Bloody Arthur," going back and forth between them.

The noise finally ceased when Ada opened the cutlery drawer loudly with a "Bloody Arthur!" which Rosie affirmed with a "Bloody Arthur!" as she banged the kettle down on the range and Lily joined in, banging the table with her fist and shouting "Bloody Arthur!"

"Lily!" Rosie whirled round to look sternly at her sister, "You don't say bloody."

"But everyone else is," Lily protested, looking between him and her sister and squirming a little.

"No, everyone else is not Lily," he said, keeping his voice gentle, "I'm not and Finn's not – it's just those two who are."

The child huffed but didn't argue and Rosie put plates of food down in front of her sister and Finn more quietly than she had been handling anything a minute before. He caught her eye and raised his eyebrow at her, to which she rolled her eyes and shook her head, confirming that she'd stop her chant. She rested her hand on his shoulder for a second as she came back around the table, and he reached up to pat it, exchanging a look with her before she squeezed his shoulder and removed her hand to go back to the sideboard and bring over plates to him and Ada, who had thrown herself into a seat at the table with a grumble.

In was a small comfort to know Rosie was as annoyed as he was by the interruption to their Saturday evenings on the sofa.

He turned his gaze on his sister and hardened it slightly in more of a rebuke, but Ada simply met his eyes dead on and glared at him. He figured she blamed him more than Arthur, since he'd proclaimed she needed to be there tonight – but though she'd figured out she'd get away with joining in with Rosie's method of expressing her annoyance (and frankly, ever since her birthday Ada had seemed to figure out that, with her and Rosie being the same age, she could get away with doing what the redhead did most of the time) she didn't quite have the guts to slam about the kitchen blaspheming Tommy's own name – yet.

There had been a time Ada had longed to be included in their family meetings, the same as Finn now wanted to be. They had shared the same first meeting – the one Arthur had called following Rosie and Lily's arrival, but Finn knew that he wasn't coming to tonight's, and he knew his brother was disappointed.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

After dinner, Tommy and his brother and sister were confined to the front room as Rosie bathed her sister in the kitchen - Ada still in a sulk that she was being made to attend and Finn lying in front of the fire trying to pretend he wasn't in a sulk for the opposite reason. In fact, Tommy noted that Finn had been awfully obedient throughout the evening and not argumentative or irritatingly beggy about his exclusion and he had noticed him shifting in his chair whilst they were in the kitchen. He suspected when his brother stripped off for his own bath that his backside would show the signs of being recently soundly smacked, which suggested Polly had reappeared that afternoon once he had left with Lily. Tommy presumed if it was anything serious she'd fill him in on Finn's transgressions when she came to the meeting.

He sat in the chair and smoked his cigarettes one after the other, in a sulk of his own about his night being interrupted and was in no mood to intervene when Arthur appeared in the front room, grunted at him – clearly still in a mood – and started making his way over to the door, only to be blocked by Rosie appearing in it.

"I'm goin' through to the shop whilst we're waitin' on the others," Arthur said, trying to slip around her.

She raised an eyebrow and put her hand on the frame, "Lily's in the bath, you'll need to go through the shop door."

Arthur pulled a confused face, "I don't care that she's in the bath, let me by."

"No, go the other way," Rosie replied, not moving, "She's in the bath and she deserves her privacy."

"Her privacy?" Arthur snorted, "She's a kid, let me by."

"Arthur, if you had any kids of your own to look after you might understand how bloody inconvenient this nonsense is on a Saturday – I've a child to bathe and get to bed at a reasonable time and you," she prodded him in the chest, "Think you can go ahead and interrupt everyone's evening. It's bloody rude," she started to prod him in the chest repeatedly and stepped forward, effectively forcing him back across to the front door, "And inconsiderate and disrespectful. I don't get in the way of you conducting your business, don't get in the way of me conducting mine – if you want to continue finding yourself with leftovers for lunch every day you let women's business run as it does. Which means Saturday nights are for baths not men's business, you understand me?"

Arthur glanced to him, but Tommy just raised an eyebrow and dragged on his cigarette.

"Right, ehh, sorry sister," Arthur muttered, fiddling with his hat in his hands.

She scoffed, "It's fine but you're not going through the kitchen while Lily's in the bath, it's not appropriate – so out you get and go the other way."

She pointed to the door and, to the surprise of the Shelby's present, Arthur obediently turned and opened it, stepping out.

"And Arthur?"

"Yeah?"

"You stand outside that shop door and make sure everyone else goes through it when they arrive – I'm not having half of Birmingham thinking they're traipsing through the front room when I cleaned those carpets on Thursday night. If anyone comes near I'll be getting the carpets done professionally and I'll be sending them to you to settle the bill, you understand?"

Tommy frowned, since when did she start doing the carpets? Was this standard? How often did the carpets get done anyway? He hadn't brought her here to clean carpets. Between that and the cooking – and he knew over the school holidays that she'd bundled up the dirty clothing and linens and taken them and herself to the wash house a few times – she was bloody well running the house – not what he had brought her for at all.

Arthur didn't verbally respond but he must have nodded because Rosie said, "Good, Tommy and Ada'll be through once I'm finished with Lily," and shut the door, letting out a "Humph" and nodding to herself once she'd done so.

When she turned she went to head straight back to the kitchen, not noticing Finn's eyes on her and his mouth hanging open – nor noticing Ada's grin.

"Rosie," he said as she reached the door, determined she'd notice him.

She didn't say anything, but she stopped and looked to him and he took his time to stub out his cigarette whilst she waited expectantly for him to address her.

"I thought I told you to leave him to me?"

"I have done," she said, raising an eyebrow.

He raised one back, "Really? Because that sounded awfully like those words you said you'd be having with him that I told you not to."

"That, Thomas, was me telling him he's not wandering through the kitchen when Lily's having her bath," she replied loftily, "I don't give a toss what you Shelby's consider decency but-"

"Come here," he said, cutting her off and crooking his finger at her, smirking when he noticed her sharp intake of breath at the action and her eyes focussing on his hand as she came the few steps towards him.

He put an arm around her waist and pulled her down to sit on his lap.

"Now you tell me the truth," he said, smirking slightly as her left arm seemed automatically to go to his shoulder and her right to rest on the arm he had settled on her leg, "Is that baby not usually well out of the bath by this time?"

"Maybe," she answered with a smirk of her own, unable to hold her straight face.

"So, if I go through there is that child going to be in the bath or is she going to be sitting in her night dress drying off in front of the kitchen fire, out of sight, just so you could come through here and make a point?"

"Oh Tommy, don't you think if I've got a point to make I'll make it properly? Of course she's still in the bath, it wasn't going to work otherwise!"

"So, you admit you did have a point to make and you concocted a plan of how to make it?"

"Well I thought you'd figured that out?"

"Oh, I have, I just wanted to hear it from your own mouth you little wench," he told her affectionately, sliding his hand down from her waist to tap lightly at the side of her hip.

"Well I'll confess then, I made a plan," she said, squirming pleasingly on his lap even at the light touch, "Though I'd call it strategy, personally."

"Strategy, eh?"

"Uhuh. And one you should be thanking me for Mr Shelby."

"You think so do you Miss Jackson?"

"I do," she said, nodding and flicking her eyebrows at him.

"How so?"

"Well I figure this way Arthur doesn't call any more meetings on Saturday nights but he reckons he's doing it to avoid annoying me and ensure his supply of lunches and cakes keeps coming - ergo I've ensured Saturdays stay business free whilst keeping you out of it, therefore avoiding this being another conflict between you and him," she said, unable to keep the smugness out of her voice.

"Ergo and therefore indeed," he snorted, but reached up and stroked her face before he could help himself, "Where would I be without you?"

"In the middle of an exceptionally hostile takeover," she told him matter-of-factly, "The whole of Birmingham would be running for cover."

"Oh - so, never mind me then, it's the whole of Birmingham should be thanking you then for averting the disruption to their lives is it indeed?"

"Well yes I suppose it is," she said thoughtfully, "Perhaps I'll send a letter to our MP about it, suggest they name the town hall after me or something suitable like that."

He snorted, "How about I name the kitchen after you? And, speaking of, why don't you head back through there before Lily shrivels up with how long you've had her in that tub – and before I decide to make a plan to make a point on your arse for constructing strategies when I've specifically told to let it alone?"

"Tommy, darling, we've talked about this – you're always looking for an excuse to make a point on my arse, so I've figured it doesn't make much difference whether I bother to listen to you or not," she replied sardonically with a grin and raised brows.

"Oh, you've _figured_ have you?" he asked with a grin of his own, his heart going faster at response to her calling him darling, even if it was done with a sarcasm to it.

She nodded, "I have Tommy, and I've figured that sometimes women just need to take over and be as strong willed as your Uncle Charlie says."

"I'll be having words with Uncle Charlie too," he said, "Putting ideas in your head about women taking over."

"Do either of you fancy having words with each other about remembering when other people are in the room?" Ada interrupted.

Rosie rolled her eyes at him but stood up off his lap.

"You shut your mouth Ada, or I'll be no help to you in convincing him to let you go out after your meeting's done," she told his sister.

"Where do you think you're going Ada?" he asked, switching his attention to his sister and narrowing his eyes.

"Everyone's staying at-" Rosie started to answer for her, then, "Who's is it you're staying at tonight?"

"I've not decided if she's staying anywhere other than her own bed tonight," he said.

"Tommy!" Ada whined, "Everyone's going!"

"Everyone's going where?"

"To stay at Claire's house."

"Claire who?"

"Claire Woods, she was here for my birthday," Ada told him.

"And is Claire why your face is covered in make-up?"

"My face isn't covered in make-up Tommy, it's just some lipstick!"

He scoffed, "So, your eyelids turned black overnight did they?"

"Tommy!"

"Are you planning to go?" he asked Rosie.

She looked at Ada and bit her lip, clearly knowing how this was about to go, before shaking her head.

"Well Ada, clearly not everyone is going," he said, then turned back to Rosie, "Why aren't you going if _everyone_ is going?"

"She doesn't want to come," Ada answered for her in a saucy tone, "For unfathomable reasons, Tommy, she prefers staying with you and Lily on a Saturday night."

He glared at his sister then turned his eyes back to Rosie, softening his voice to ask her, "Do you want to go? I can watch Lily if you want to start going to these things?"

She snorted and pulled a face, "Please, I've only just about managed to figure out how to deal with being around Ada so much, can you imagine me stuck overnight with all her screaming friends talking about – about whatever that stuff on her eyelids is?" She waved a hand in Ada's direction.

He thought his sister seemed to visibly relax at that and wondered vaguely if he should impose a rule that Ada could only go if Rosie went, but it would be rather counterproductive to his own interests.

Besides, Ada was shooting her a seemingly grateful look. He wished he could be a fly on the wall at their school to try and figure out how their relationship worked – whether they actually spoke to one another or not outside of the house. Maybe this was how their compromise had come about – they stayed out of each other's way outside and they got on inside.

"Alright, fine, but you're scrubbing your face before the meeting and then someone is walking you over."

"Tommy! No!"

"It's dark Ada – and it'll be even darker and later when we're done."

"Tommy, I don't need someone to walk me two streets over!"

"Ada don't argue - or you won't be going at all."

She sank back on the sofa and folded her arms, "Fine."

He felt slightly better about it at that, "Right, you," he said, turning back to the redhead who was lingering in the doorway, "Get your sister out the bath, it's five to eight and since I've avoided _conflict_ with Arthur I'd rather not find it by being late."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

They started late anyway, John and Pol arrived late – Tommy figured they were hoping if him and Arthur were going to argue they'd get it done before they arrived – and Rosie held them all up by going up to the bedroom to brush Lily's hair out then bringing the child back down to sit her in the living room in front of the fire to let the hair dry.

There was also the small matter that she didn't seem to realise her own presence was required, and Tommy had to go and bring her through - " _Well you said it was a family meeting Tommy!", "Well you're family, aren't you? Besides, half the fucking shop has turned up for it - and your strategical brain might be useful so get your arse sat at that table!"_

He told Finn to get in the bath whilst the meeting was going on and informed his brother that he and Lily would be going straight to bed once it was done. He hoped it would provide a distraction, so that he wouldn't spend the entire time with his ear pressed to the door, trying to find out what they were discussing.

"Right, now that we're all here," Arthur began once they had all gathered and the door between the kitchen and the shop had been shut back over.

"On a Saturday night," John interjected, rolling his eyes.

Rosie smirked over her shoulder at him. He had a feeling she knew as well as he did that John's annoyance of his Saturday night being interrupted had a lot less to do with his children's bathing routine being disrupted and a lot more to do with his patronage of the Garrison being delayed by a few hours.

"Right," Arthur said, glaring at John, "I've called this family meeting because I've got some very important news – Scudboat and Lovelock got back from Belfast last night, they were buying a stallion to cover their mares. They were in a pub on the Shankhill Road yesterday and, in that pub, there was a copper – handing out these."

His brother picked up a small bundle of papers and handed one to Ada, who was sitting nearest him, passing the rest to Scud and Love, letting them go around and hand them out.

John snatched the paper from Ada's hands before she had a chance to read it and read aloud, "If you're over five feet and can fight, come to Birmingham."

Tommy glanced at the paper that he had been passed – it was signed by order of Chester Campbell, exactly as Moss had told him it would be.

"They're recruiting protestant Irishmen, to come over here as Special," Arthur announced.

"To do what?" Ada asked.

"To clean up the city Ada," Thomas told his sister. The rest of the room focussed on him, so he addressed them, "He's the Chief Inspector. The last four years he's been clearing the IRA out of Belfast-"

"How do you know so bloody much?" Arthur demanded, cutting him off.

Tommy fixed Arthur with a steady gaze. He was playing the game, he'd stood himself against a post, behind where Rosie sat at the bottom of the table. He hadn't challenged it when Arthur had situated himself at the top of the table and crossed his arms.

But if his brother wanted to stand there and make a fool of himself, highlighting to everyone present that he thought he had called this meeting to share information with them that they didn't have whilst Tommy already knew far more about it than he did, then there wasn't much Tommy could do about that.

"Because I asked the coppers on our payroll," Tommy told him evenly.

"And why didn't you tell me?"

Tommy stilled the eyebrow he felt begin to lift as Arthur glared at him, "I'm telling you."

Arthur took a drink from his flask, not answering and glaring at him.

"So why are they sending him to Birmingham?" Polly asked, turning her head to him.

"Well there's been all these bloody strikes at the BSA and the Austin works lately; now the papers are talking about sedition and revolution. I reckon it's communists he's after," he replied with the answer he'd already decided to give his family when the question was inevitably asked.

He kept his head still but caught, out of the corner of his eye, Ada looking slightly shifty and widening her eyes at Rosie over his words. He couldn't see the redhead's reaction. He presumed it was to do with his warning he had given her in the kitchen over Polly's tea leaf readings and her interpretation of red right hands.

"So, this copper's going to leave us alone, right?" Polly pushed on, her eyes on him, not having noticed any exchange between his sister and Rosie – or at least, not seeming to.

"There are Irishmen in Green Lanes who left Belfast to get away from him," Tommy replied, "They say Catholic men who crossed him used to disappear in the night."

"Yeah but we ain't IRA," John replied to his point, "We bloody fought for the king. Anyway we're Peaky Blinders, we're not scared of coppers."

"He's right," Arthur growled.

"If they come for us, we'll cut them a smile each," John proclaimed.

"So, Arthur, is that it?" Tommy asked, biting his tongue to keep from adding ' _Is that what you interrupted everyone's Saturday night for? Some information you got from a fucking flyer that I was going to tell you about once the man had arrived with his men anyway, once I'd assessed how many men that was?'_

He felt Rosie's eyes on him, but he kept his on Arthur, staring his brother down.

Arthur ducked his eyes, moving them to Polly, "What do you think Aunt Pol?"

Arthur was flailing. He very rarely called Polly Aunt anything, she was just Pol or Polly to them. His brother wanted reassurance, just like Lily did, but Arthur was too proud to admit it or ask Tommy for it, so he reverted to Polly. He supposed Arthur, like him, like John, found it easier to be softer with a woman – with any woman – than it was to be soft with another man.

"This family does everything open," Polly said, turning her head to him and raising an eyebrow, "You have nothing more to say to this meeting Thomas?"

Polly knew.

But even though Polly had figured something out, or at least figured out there was something to be figured out, he would stick to his plan, he would keep this away from his family, he would deal with this on his own. He wouldn't risk Rosie and Lily by mixing them up in this. This would be handled by him, handled alone.

He shook his head, "No. Nothing that's women's business."

Polly exchanged a look with the redhead who sat beside her before turning back to him, "This whole bloody enterprise was women's business while you boys were away at war – what's changed?"

"We came back," he replied, evenly but with enough warning in his tone that his aunt let it go.

"Yeah we came back and now we want to go to the pub," John said with a grin, never able to hold tension for too long off of a battlefield, "So can we get on with it if that's us done?"

"Where are your kids John?" Rosie asked.

John shrugged, "Little ones are in their beds, George was playing out on the street, he'll have gone in by now."

"Right," Tommy said, before Rosie could respond, "Arthur, we done?"

His older brother looked between him and Polly and then nodded, which made for a din of noise as the men began to disperse, all of them eager to get to the Garrison.

"John," Tommy raised his voice, catching his younger brother's attention, "You walk Ada over to – to whose house Ada?"

She looked to him, caught unawares, "What?"

"Whose house is it you're going to tonight?"

"Oh, Claire's," she replied, her eyes flicking to Rosie's.

"Right – John, you walk her to this Claire girl's house then go to your own and check on your kids before you go to the Garrison."

"Tommy!" John whined, throwing his hands up, not sounding too far removed from their sister.

"Just do it," Tommy said, rolling his eyes, "Come on you," he said, his voice becoming gentle as he placed his hand on Rosie's back, "Let's get that child off to her bed so we can try and avoid tantrums in the morning when she's overtired. I told her earlier she's going to start going to bed by eight o'clock and the first bloody night of me intending to ensure that happened has been fucked about with."

He swept out of the room without looking to Polly or Arthur. Polly would hunt him down, demand his time and his answers – he knew that. But for now, his main priority was claiming the remainder of his Saturday to be spent as he wanted to spend it. And he wasn't giving Arthur any more of his time.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

It was Lily, ironically, who decided against that.

"Arthur," he found himself back in the shop saying, just as his brother was about to leave.

"What?" his brother demanded, glaring at him.

"Lily's upset you're in the house and you haven't come to speak to her – she wants to see you before she goes to bed."

"Right," Arthur said, softening almost immediately and heading through the kitchen doors to the front room, where Lily was standing on the sofa with a pout.

"Arthur!" she said, holding her arms out for his brother to go to her and let her wrap them around his chest.

"Hello sweetheart," he replied gruffly, one of his hands splaying across her back, the other going to her head.

"Were you going to go away without seeing me?" she asked up at him, accusatory.

"Your sister told me I wasn't allowed to see ya tonight," he told her.

Tommy frowned, ready to jump in and defend Rosie if need be, but Lily had laughed.

"You weren't allowed to come see me when I was in the bath Arthur," she giggled, "But you can see me now."

"Right, well, that's you seen each other so why don't you let Arthur go. Then he can do what he needs to do and you can go to bed, like you need to do," Rosie's voice broke in, a smile playing around the corners of her mouth as she watched his brother and her sister.

"I hear I interrupted your night Lily," Arthur said, a slightly sheepish grin passing over his face as he glanced to Rosie before looking back to the child.

"Yeah I got to stay up late – even though I had to stay through here on my own."

"You weren't on your own you were with Finn," Tommy replied.

"Finn was listening to the meeting," Lily replied, rolling her eyes as if that was obvious – though he supposed, really, it was, "But I stayed in here like Rosie and you said."

"Is that right?" Tommy asked her "Finn!" he called, bringing to boy through from the kitchen, dragging his heels.

"Were you in that meeting Finn?" he asked him.

His brother shook his head.

"No, so were you meant to hear what was being said?"

His brother shook his head again.

Tommy raised an eyebrow, "Words, Finn."

"No Tommy, I wasn't meant to hear," Finn sighed, obviously resigned to what he thought was coming.

"If I hear of you listening at doors that are shut to you again, I'll box your ears for you son - so that they'll hear nothing in them but ringing, understood?"

"Yes Tommy."

"Good," he nodded, "Bed."

Finn glanced at him, probably amazed he wasn't getting his ears boxed on the spot, then glanced at Lily. Tommy could practically see the protest of ' _But she's not in bed yet and I'm older'_ forming on his brother's lips, so he raised an eyebrow and it had the desired effect – Finn scurried back through the doors and up the stairs before Tommy had to change his mind on not boxing his ears for him.

"Bed time for you too, Lily, say good night to Arthur," he said to the child on the sofa, lighting a cigarette.

"I don't want to go to bed," Lily told Arthur, "I like staying up late!"

"You won't like it in the morning when it's time to get up and you're tired," Rosie said.

"You won't like it in the morning if you're throwing a tantrum because you're tired and I have to settle you down Lily," Tommy warned, gesturing his cigarette at her.

She frowned up at Arthur, looking for support.

"Ah I'd better go an' let you get to bed sweetheart, I've seen that Tommy settlin' down Ada an' Finn before an' I'd advise it's to be avoided if possible," Arthur told her, patting her head.

She looked between the adults - him, his brother and Rosie - clearly trying to figure out if there was one of them she could wheedle into letting her stay up, but he saw the moment of resignation arrive on her face. She let out a sigh.

"Good night Arthur," she said, squeezing him.

"Good night princess," he said, returning her squeeze.

She looked between him and her sister, and Rosie stepped forward and said, "I'll take you up."

Arthur stood back to let her pick up the child and she stopped at Tommy's side on her way out to say, "You saying good night to Tommy?"

"Good night Tommy," she said.

"Good night my little love," he said, putting his cigarette down to place both of his hands on her little face and kiss her head gently.

"Tommy?"

"Uhuh?"

"Can we go to the tearooms every Saturday?"

"No my love - I'm afraid I have to work most of the time on Saturdays, but I promise we'll go again soon, eh?"

"Okay Tommy," she sighed.

"Besides, your sister's cakes are better anyway," he said, placing a hand on Rosie's backside - since her sister's legs were on her waist, conveniently blocking him from resting his hand there - and patting it gently to accompany the compliment.

Rosie scoffed, "Lily's already said you just sat there and smoked and let her eat all the cakes herself, so you don't have any evidence to base that on."

He grinned, "I didn't bother eating any of them because I _know_ there's no chance they'd be any better than yours."

She snorted, "That's men's logic for you Lily – non-existent!"

He swatted at the arse his hand was still resting on, "You get that child to bed whilst you're still welcome to come back down - before I decide I've had my fill of women for the day and send the two of you off for the night!"

She flapped a hand at his chest and shook her head but went through the doors to carry Lily off, leaving him and Arthur alone.

"Tearooms Tommy, eh?"

He shrugged and picked the cigarette back up, "She liked them."

"She's a good baby,

"She is."

"I'm glad you brought her here," Arthur offered.

"So am I, Arthur, so am I."

Lily had broken the tension between them, broken it enough for now.

Their mother had dragged them out to a first footing once, to the house of someone their father had been arguing with.

They hadn't wanted to go but she'd told them they needed to be there and when they'd asked why she'd said, "Because you're babies."

Not considering himself a baby at all – Tommy had pointed to his mother's rounded stomach, where John was still growing and said, "That's a baby, I'm not a baby."

"You are a baby, you're both babies still to me," she'd said, gathering him and Arthur in to her, "And it's important we fix this before the new baby is born. That's why I need you both there – babies make everybody okay, babies stop everything."

He didn't even remember whose house they'd been dragged to or what had happened, but he remembered his mother telling him it was his power that would stop whatever it was she needed to stop – that it was because he was a baby that he could fix it before the new baby came.

He supposed she had had a point – babies certainly went a long way to making things okay.

Even between arguing Shelby's.


	31. Chapter 31

"I have ten minutes - what do you want?" he asked Polly.

The sunlight streaming in through the church windows didn't seem to reach his aunt's head with its macabre black lace covering – no longer a requirement of women in church but one she willingly continued to abide by. He thought perhaps it was similar to Rosie's school-boy friends calling her 'Jackson', and what she'd said about it helping her to keep everything separate – perhaps adopting that pious widow look helped Polly to reconcile her, against all odds, still very much deep and genuine faith with her daily life.

His aunt knew, or had known at least, that he had no faith left – though he wondered if some part of her hoped his weekly visits to the church with Rosie and Lily had changed that for him. Perhaps that was why she had asked him to meet her there, hopeful that the church would force the truth from him.

The reality was, it was respect for her that pulled the truth from him. She told him she had spoken to the wives of factory hands from the BSA factory – letting him know she had done her own research. Letting him know she knew there had been a robbery of some sort. Letting him know her suspicions. But she had had the respect for him not to tell his brothers and, out of his respect for her, he told her the truth – told her the details of the robbery that had taken place, admitted that it hadn't actually been as planned, told her that more or less, the chances were that the robbery he'd managed to entangle himself in, was behind the copper from Belfast's arrival.

She rained blows on him, which he patiently endured, before giving her verdict and advice – "Dump them somewhere the police can find them. Maybe if they know they haven't fallen into the wrong hands, this might blow over."

He respected her, but he could predict her. He hadn't needed her to say it, because he'd known what she'd day – he had considered it.

It was dangerous. Of course it was dangerous. But with risk came reward.

He was glad Polly left without asking him to commit to agreeing to abide by her advice. In fact, he bought himself some time – she accepted that Charlie wouldn't move contraband under a full moon. He had bought himself three more days to make his decision about whether he was punching up and out using the guns or not. Three days for Billy Kimber to get in touch or not get in touch about his race.

For now, he had a bookshop to get to, and some books to purchase for a certain redhead whose magical ideas had caused a flurry of bets to be placed, and whose idea would grow after the horse won this afternoon whilst they were walking home from school. A girl whose idea would help build his empire, a girl who would sit by his side once he had his crown, wearing one of her own. For all he was sure her too strategical for her own good brain would find her over his knee sooner or later. To be fair, he'd have been disappointed to find out otherwise.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"Tommy!" Lily shouted and waved at him as she came out the junior school door.

He crouched down to let her run to his arms, swinging her up, "Hello my little love, how was your day?"

"Oh, it is so lovely to see a man willing to hold his child in public," a woman nearby crooned at them.

He gave a tight smile to the woman as they passed, whilst Lily giggled up at him – amused by the idea she was his child. Children saw everything in such a black and white way, the adults they called mum and dad were their parents, nobody else. He doubted she even thought of herself as being Rosie's kid. But then, she seemed to accept she was loved and cared for and he supposed as long as she was happy then figures with the official titles being missing wasn't an issue.

"What's in the bag Tommy?"

"A present for your sister," he told her.

"Is it for her birthday?" Lily asked, peering at the bag he was carrying in the hand he didn't have wrapped around her.

He frowned, "No it's because of her good idea and all the money it's going to make us when it pays off… When is her birthday Lily?"

The child shrugged, "It was last week."

He stopped walking.

"Her birthday was last week?"

Lily nodded, "Yeah. I forgot but she told me after."

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked, his voice harsher than he meant for it to be as a result of the cold panic that was setting in his stomach.

"I thought she'd tell you," Lily said, looking worriedly at him, her fingers uncurling from around his neck to go to her mouth.

He hoisted the bag up onto his forearm to free his hand and took her wrist, gently guiding it back to where it had been, "Hey, no fingers in mouth bab, eh? Nothing to be worried about."

"I'm sorry Tommy," she whispered.

"What have you got to be sorry for sweetheart?" he asked, stroking her hair.

"I didn't know to tell you."

"Well you don't be sorry for not knowing things Lily, okay? You only be sorry when you've made a mistake or been disobedient."

"But was it not a mistake not to tell you?"

"No, you didn't know to tell me. It's not a mistake not to know things."

She bit her lip but nodded, and he kissed her head before bouncing her a little, "Now, Lily, tell you what we're going to do – we're going to pretend you haven't told me, okay? And we're going to go send Rosie and Ada off on an errand to get them out the house and then you and me and Aunt Polly are going to arrange a surprise birthday tea this evening, okay?"

She smiled at that, "With cake?"

"With cake," he confirmed, nodding, "Though god only knows it'll be nothing compared to Ada's birthday cakes."

Ada didn't even bother pretending to be displeased at her plans being interrupted when Tommy presented her with a pound note and some shillings and told her to go keep her and Rosie out of the house for a few hours. On her own arrival at the school gates Rosie seemed more annoyed at it – she did eventually allow herself to be led away by Ada, though all the while staring back at him with suspicious, narrowed eyes.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"Now, Lily, think hard," Tommy urged the baby, who sat at the kitchen table, the eyes of all the Shelby's on her, "Is there anything she's mentioned that she wanted recently?"

Lily screwed up her face but shook her head, "No. She said she got the best birthday present already."

"Was that having you in her life?" Arthur asked Lily with a smirk.

"No," Lily answered, quite seriously, "She said she was staying at school to do the leaver's certificate so she could go help Sylvia. Then she said Tommy wouldn't let her help Sylvia, but she could maybe do something of use."

"Who's Sylvia?" John asked.

"Sylvia made my bear," Lily said with a shrug.

Tommy rolled his eyes to the ceiling, he was going to need to find out who that bear was named after and why she thought he wouldn't let her help a toymaker.

"Okay other than Sylvia, is there _anything_ she's mentioned wanting?"

Lily screwed up her face, "Just women's lib- women's lib-…" she shook her head and trailed off.

"Women's libraries?" Polly suggested.

Lily thought hard for a moment, then nodded.

"What in hell does she want women's libraries for?" Arthur asked.

Maybe she wanted libraries full of books on how to raise children, Tommy thought. Libraries full of books on women's business.

Or… No.

 _Deeds not words_ – she'd _literally_ quoted it at him, that day at her house, during her rant on why whore wasn't an insult.

"Lads," he grinned, "I don't think she wants women's libraries."

They looked at him and he looked at Lily, trying not to laugh.

"Is there any chance she wants women's _liberation_ Lily?"

The child's affirmative answer was lost as the room descended into laughter.

"Oh, fuck me Tom, it would be like you to go an' find a fucking suffragette wouldn't it?" Arthur howled.

"Suffragettes – like the one who threw herself in front of the horse, remember that?" John said, with more of a grin than was maybe entirely appropriate for talking about a woman's death.

"Emily Davison," Tommy said, with a nod, "1913, year before we went to war."

"Christ!" Polly said, dragging on her cigarette.

John caught Arthur's eye and the two of them started again.

"Right – right – we don't have time for standing about having a laugh, and they got themselves the vote anyway," Tommy said, trying to quell the situation.

"No," Lily said, shaking her head, "Rosie said the vote isn't right yet, it's not the same."

"Did she say that indeed?" Tommy asked, trying to keep his face straight when talking to the baby as John threw back his head and laughed with tears rolling down his face.

"Uhuh," Lily nodded, "Tommy?"

"What sweetheart?"

"What is the vote?"

"Nothing you need to worry about."

"Rosie says all women need to worry about it."

"Well you're a girl, Lily, you're not a woman yet so you don't need to worry about it. What we need to worry about right now is that Ada and Rosie will be back here anytime after six o'clock, it's half four and all we've got is the only cake they had left in the bakery and a pie from the butchers."

"They're not gonna be as good as her cakes or pies," John said wistfully.

"No they won't," Tommy replied, "But the point is she's not doing any work. I've had it with the amount of bloody work she is doing, to be fucking honest, she cleaned the bloody carpets on Thursday night she said."

He glared at Polly as he said it and she raised an eyebrow, "I didn't tell her to clean them, I just said they needed cleaned."

"I told you to let her contribute, not take over running the house."

"Well I can be here and run the house or I can give you privacy and let her run the house, it's your choice Thomas," she retorted tartly.

He decided not to acknowledge her, instead turning to his brothers, "Arthur – go and bring the car around, we need to get a move on. John – you go get everyone out the shop and shut it up; Finn – give John a hand tidying and once you've done the shop tidy up in here a bit too for her."

Finn seemed less than happy at the idea of being assigned to tidying up, but he wasn't going to turn down a chance at being willingly sent into the shop.

"Lily darling, you go change out of your school dress for me while they're getting the car," Polly told the child, who slid off the seat and went through the open shop doors after John and Finn, heading up the stairs.

"So, she's sixteen now," Polly said to Tommy once they were alone.

He just looked at her, keeping his face blank.

"You taking her to church?"

"Every Sunday, Pol," he replied, a warning in his tone.

"Thomas!"

"Polly!"

She raised an eyebrow.

"She's still a child," he said, his eye glinting dangerously.

"I've said it before and I'll say it again – that girl's never been a child," she pushed on, giving little regard for his glinting eyes.

He didn't say anything – but he accepted she was going to say whatever it was she was going to say, and it didn't matter whether he took out his gun and cocked it at her head or not – he'd hear it.

Thinking on it, maybe it had been the wrong thing to bring Rosie into the house and see Polly's example in front of her. Though, by all accounts, they had been as wilful as one another before they ever met – bloody suffragettes. If Polly had ever had any respect for living her life within the boundaries set by the people in power, he guessed she'd have been a suffragette too. As it was, she thought politics beneath her. Polly thought of herself as a Gypsy princess and that was the only set of politics she cared about.

"Thomas!" his aunt said again, clearly not believing she had his attention.

He raised his eyebrows.

"She never had a childhood – and it's too late. You can't force one on her now she's too old for it just because it wasn't fair that she was at the back of the queue for them being handed out. We give the sister one, sure. But her chance at a childhood is done – and you're going to do more harm than good trying to stop her living all the life stages she's got to live yet because she missed out on one."

"She might be sixteen, but she's not a woman yet Polly," he replied.

"Because Thomas Shelby knows so much about what makes a woman?" Polly growled at him.

He didn't answer, and she sighed, then said, "Fine – maybe she's not a woman yet but she's no child. She's in the in-between and when she starts exploring all the things that in between makes her want to, it's you who's going to be hurt when it's not with you she does it with."

He looked at her scathingly, but his aunt's face was dark and deadly serious, "Thomas – I was pregnant when I was the age she is now."

He found himself, for once, unable to hide his shock. He hadn't known. He should have known. He'd have been… He thought on it. He'd have been ten when Polly was sixteen. Maybe he shouldn't have known then. He tried to imagine Finn knowing. Finn wouldn't have a clue. And when he was ten, their father had been gone. He hadn't come back for a few years to put Ada into their mother, Tommy wouldn't have known any signs.

But still… He couldn't believe something so enormous had happened without him knowing.

"Oh, I didn't dare tell anyone – and I took care of it," she replied, nodding her head grimly, "Nearly killed myself in the process. But you have that girl on a pristine pedestal – you have ideas about what a sixteen-year-old girl is Thomas, and you've never been one. So, you heed my advice before you hurt yourself. _All_ of my advice."

He knew she meant the guns too. He dropped his eyes to the floor then, processing her words. She had been pregnant. At the age Rosie was now.

It was all mixed up – he looked at Rosie and everything about her called out to him, every sweet curve of her body, the tiny mouth he'd like to taste, the eyes he wanted to watch become hazy as he brought them together. And beyond all the physical, he enjoyed a verbal spar with her – he loved her mind, how it worked. Even if he was going to have to have a word with her about this women's liberation nonsense before she got herself into some real trouble - and figure out who bloody Sylvia was.

And when they were both with Lily… It was so easy to imagine them with a child he had put in her – a little combination of them, though God only knew how that child would turn out – Tommy could well imagine his right hand would fall off trying to keep that child in line, keep it safe. But he wanted to keep her safe too. And he could do that more easily if he didn't act on any of it, if he kept her under him. In the non-biblical sense.

He should do as he'd said, he should wait till she was an adult. But Polly – well, Polly was a woman and had once been a sixteen-year-old girl. So maybe Polly was right.

His aunt had pulled on her coat and picked up her bag by this time, but she hesitated in the doorway, clearly with something else she wanted to say before they got in the car.

"Come on Polly - don't stop now - spit it out," he ordered her, his voice irritated.

"Fine," she replied, her eyes flashing at him "I've said you'll hurt yourself – and you will. But if you hurt yourself you'll hurt her too, she's devoted to you Thomas, just as much as you are her. And the pair of you are as stubborn as each other and you both need a bloody good hiding as far as I'm concerned - but I knew the minute you left this house to get her that day that you were bringing her here to make it this her home. So, make it her home, Thomas – god knows she's already running it."

And before he could return her anything, the door had shut behind her for her to wait on the street for Arthur to bring the car around.

He squeezed the bridge of his nose with his fingers and massaged at his temples.

The problem was, he wanted to give Rosie everything. He wanted to do everything he had ever done with any other girl – take her to the tearooms, take her for a fancy dinner at the Midland Hotel. No, fuck that, he'd take her to London. He'd take her to the Ritz. They'd go to the zoo, so he could tease her about all the animals she called him, and they'd pick up some stuffed animals at the gift shop for Lily. He'd take her to the theatre. He'd take her to an opera, he'd buy her a gown and he'd put on a penguin suit and they'd act like toffs for the night. Except she'd be smirking at him the entire time for how ridiculous it was and then they'd go back and ruin the fancy hotel room he'd book for them.

But no – London and hotel rooms would have to wait. They'd have to wait till he could afford what he wanted to give her. He was cash rich – richer than most people would have realised. But it was always teetering, never sure, never certain. He wanted to give her certainty. Not the existence they'd had – where their father would come in one day to shower them with toys and jewellery for their mother because a job had gone well or he'd sold a horse; then a week later they'd be on the road in what they'd think was an adventure but what he knew now was a way of avoiding people his father owed money to.

He wouldn't put her or Lily through that.

He'd give her this birthday tea tonight and then he'd take her to the Midland for dinner on Saturday – luxury, but affordable luxury. He'd go get her the day off work and he'd get Ada to help him pick out a dress for her. A dress, not a ballgown. And she'd complain but she'd let him take her hand and drive them there and, out the sight of the people who knew them, they could pretend to be any other set of young people and he'd court her like one of the gentlemen in the books he had bought her.

That was the crux of it, he wanted to court her and make things special for her, but it was hard to do that when they lived in the same Watery Lane house.

They had their routines and boundaries established – he could smack her arse, when she gave him cause to (and she seemed to make the effort to give him cause often), he could pat her arse in warning that she was close to it being smacked, and he could touch her waist. She could touch his shoulder and arm, occasionally his waist. She could lay her head on his shoulder on the couch – and in that situation he could touch her feet. Sometimes they'd touch each other's faces – only sometimes though. He'd pressed his lips to her forehead twice now. And he'd pulled her down to sit on his lap once.

The things they'd done more than once, they did freely enough when alone, or with Lily or Finn. They reduced them around Ada. They reduced them even further around Polly and his brothers. They didn't do anything out of the house, other than allow their hands to entwine in her pocket.

He had fucked this all up so royally – he had given in to ways to pervert his resolve of not touching her and now that he was considering asking if he could touch her, it was difficult to know how to phrase that when he was already touching her regularly but just not touching her fully. And they'd never really discussed it, they just had these wordless agreements that meant the idea of discussing anything became even more uncomfortable. If he had always kept the distance he had sworn to, it would be easy enough to ask to cross a line. But it was more difficult to figure out how to put it when he was straddling the line already.

And the thing was, it was all so awkward, but he knew she'd agree to whatever he proposed. He knew she wanted him too.

So, he had to think exactly about what his proposal was.

He still needed her safe. And they couldn't afford to attract any attention about Lily being without her mother, not until Rosie was eighteen and could legally adopt her. They needed to not draw any attention at all, ideally. Especially given he hadn't decided what he was doing with these guns yet and this inspector and his men would be arriving any day now. He'd make a point of tracking down Moss the next day, of finding out what they were expecting – how many men, and what their aims were.

So then, what exactly was it he was offering her? Was it really any more than they were currently doing? He wouldn't risk putting a child in her. Not yet. Not until he'd married her. And he would marry her, he knew that. But he'd marry her when her name being Shelby was less of a risk than this new Chief Inspector might make it.

But, god above, he wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her. Regularly. Just simple kisses. Just his lips on hers. Innocent and gentle and sweet and loving. Except of course, that with everything he would be trying to convey to her with his kisses, the kisses would be anything but simple.

Was that all he wanted to ask her – if he could kiss her?

And, of course, with that - there was the worry.

He ached for her. As he had done from the day he had seen her make herself at home in his kitchen. That was the day it had all changed.

He had enjoyed her company before then. He had flirted with her, he'd admit it now. He had tried to charm her. He had always thought she was pretty, if slightly untidy with her haphazard hair. And he'd had to control himself a few times not to break his stoic stance and laugh when she put the men in the shop in their place. But something had settled into his belly when they'd gone to her house that night, when he'd first met Lily. People were different at home and he'd seen her relaxed and tender with the child, as he'd never seen her before. And whatever it was that had settled had sprouted that weekend when he'd seen her cry as she'd worried about her sister, when he'd seen her begin to trust him enough to be vulnerable.

And when he'd seen her cooking in his kitchen, an apron tied over her dress, a knife in hand - with smudges of something on her cheek and carrot peel in her hair? That was the moment he realised whatever it was in him had grown and taken over him, like ivy on a building, climbing and curling all around him and nestling in areas of himself he'd forgotten about. That was when he'd realised he loved her.

It wasn't that that was the minute he'd fallen in love with her. Loving her had been a done deal long before then. He just hadn't known it. Hell, he'd stake all his money on it that Polly had probably known it before he did.

But that had been the moment he had realised he was hers. And it was foreign and terrifying – and yet it felt like it was what he'd always been meant to do. And so, he'd left the room to get his sister and smacked her about the front room so he could use the time to remember how to breathe while he processed what Rosie had caused in him.

He had hated himself at first – because it wasn't why he'd brought her. And he had sworn off touching her, which he'd managed – for a while. And then he'd given in to his want to touch her and they'd ended up where they were now. And now, he wanted to give in to his want to kiss her – and maybe she'd let them and, like his hand on her waist had felt at first delicious maybe those kisses would satisfy him – for a while. But if he went down this path, how long would it be before all he want to do was touch her even more intimately? How long before he would end up giving in to his desire to put a child in her?

Maybe it was better not to go down this path at all – maybe it was easier to stay resolved where they were rather than always trying to satisfy the next hunger? Always promising themselves that it would be just a hand at a waist, or just a kiss, or just a feel, or just a look, or just a taste or just him burying himself in her so deeply neither of them would know where one of them started and one of them ended. Just.

But he respected Polly's opinion. And Rosie was now sixteen, she was now legal. And he didn't want to hurt her, like Polly predicted he would, if he didn't take her advice. And he certainly didn't want her doing any 'exploring' with anyone else.

God, maybe this was why she hadn't told him. Maybe she was trying to figure out what it all meant and she had decided it was easier if they just didn't confront it yet.

He could have screamed. He needed to know what he was dealing with, before he could know what he was actually wanting to ask her, before he could figure out how to phrase that.

He needed to let it go for tonight. He needed to put it aside till he had the information, the answers, the handle on the situation that he needed to have to figure out how to control it.

Tonight wouldn't be about asking her anything, anyway – maybe other than finding out what her women's liberation nonsense was about. Tonight would just be about her birthday being celebrated – though perhaps while he was at it with finding out what her women's liberation nonsense was about he'd also do his best to find out why she had hidden her birthday from him. And if it was because she wanted to avoid complicating things then he would respect that.

Whatever happened, and whatever she decided – he would respect it. He didn't have to like it, but he would respect it.


	32. Chapter 32

As it turned out, her reasons for not telling him about her birthday were revealed with very little questioning on his part.

They were all in the kitchen when Ada and Rosie came through the front door, Rosie grumbling about how late their dinner would be now because Ada had kept her out and stopping dead in her moaning when Lily went running through to greet her.

"Lily why are you wearing that good Christmas dress on a Monday night?" he heard her ask suspiciously.

"Because we're having a surprise birthday tea," Lily answered.

"For who?" she asked, her voice slightly weak.

Tommy reckoned she knew fine well for who.

"For you," Lily said with a giggle.

"But it's not my birthday," she replied.

"No," he said, coming to stand in the doorway to meet her eyes, "It's not your birthday. Apparently, it was your birthday – last week. And you just forgot to mention it."

"I can't believe you didn't tell me it was your birthday!" Ada said, incredulous.

Tommy had decided to conceal his reasons for telling Ada to keep the two of them out the house for a few hours, knowing his sister would give the game away if he did.

Rosie looked between the eyes of the two Shelby's and her sister, a slight panic appearing in the depths of her own.

"Come on," he said, holding his hand out to her.

She seemed to focus on it and crossed the room to give him hers, looking up at him for some kind of reassurance or explanation. He smiled and saw a flicker of relaxation happen on her face, then he used the hand to manoeuvre her around in front of him and push her gently through to the kitchen where the cake was set in the centre of the table.

"It's not the cake I would have picked for you," he said quietly in her ear, able to feel the tension in her body as her hand clutched at his, "But it was the only one they had left because someone didn't give me any warning."

He rubbed her back with his free hand, pushing his knuckles in to her. She rolled her shoulders against into his touch but didn't say anything.

Even when Arthur said, "Well – happy birthday a bit late love," and came to put his arms around her she didn't summon words, and she didn't let go of Tommy's hand, though she patted his brother's back with her free one.

Tommy grinned over her head at a bemused Arthur, "She's gone all shy."

"I am not shy!" she said, attempting and failing to snap, "I just didn't want a fuss."

"Oh, you are shy," he said, rolling his eyes, "I've never come across anyone who likes eyes on them less than you."

"I'm just not conceited, Thomas."

"No, that you're not, Rosalie," he said, pulling out a chair and pushing her down into it, moving his hands to her shoulders to let her know he wasn't leaving her alone.

This was why she hadn't told him – Ada's idea of a birthday celebration, with the extended family gathered and all attention on her was Rosie's idea of hell.

"Rosalie?" John snorted.

"Don't even think about it, John," she said, managing to glare successfully at him – slowly regaining control of herself.

"Rosie are you not happy about your birthday?" Lily asked.

Rosie glanced over her shoulder to her sister, who had followed behind her into the kitchen.

"Come here you," she said, reaching out a hand to the child and pulling her up onto her lap, "Of course I'm happy – I just don't like a fuss, you know me."

"We got you presents," Lily told her.

"Presents," she repeated, her voice going slightly faint again.

Polly smiled, "We had been going to do them after dinner but maybe we should do them now? Then we can leave you to your dinner and your cake."

"Wait, what?" John said, his eyes snapping to their aunt, "I was promised cake!"

"We'll leave you some, John," Tommy said, his eyes warning his brother to bloody well leave it.

  
No tact, John, none at all.

"No, no – stay," Rosie said, to his surprise, "You should get some cake while it's fresh. Where are your kids?"

"Lizzie's watching them."

"Well why don't you get them? There's enough food to go around. I've got leftover stew as well from last night."

"You sure?" Tommy asked her, squeezing her shoulder.

"Yeah," she said, looking up at him and smiling slightly, "I don't want it on my conscience that we sat and had cake without them." Her smile disappeared suddenly, "But absolutely no bloody singing – in fact, someone give me a knife and we'll cut the cake now so all that anyone needs to do is eat it."

"Alright – no singing," Tommy agreed, cocking an eyebrow, "Though don't think I haven't considered that maybe you just want them here so that they can make a racket and take everyone's attention off you."

She visibly relaxed when he confirmed there would be no singing and she smirked up at him, "Aye they are quite good for that to be fair".

He shook his head in amusement, then turned to his brother, "Right John – the birthday girl's wishes are that your mob attend so who are we to disagree?"

John rolled his eyes, but headed off out the door, returning with the four of them in tow.

It was a much more understated celebration than Ada's – and as he'd agreed there was no singing, but after her initial unease they all seemed to have rather a nice evening, even if he did have to smack her arse when she started gathering up the dishes.

"At least let me put them in the sink, Tommy," she said, rolling her eyes over her shoulder at him.

"Not on your birthday," he said, reaching over and taking them from her.

"It's not my birthday though."

"Yes, I know, and we're going to have a chat about that."

"We are?" she asked, her brow creasing, a slight worry in her voice.

"Uhuh," he said casually, taking the dishes over to the sink, glancing out the window to check that the kids, who had all disappeared out the back, were all where he could see them – as they'd been told to be.

Satisfied they'd obeyed him he turned his eyes over to the table, where she had stayed, watching him as he dumped the dished into the sink. He thought about shouting Finn in to do them, but the others had gone through to the living room and since they were alone he wanted to take the chance and ask her…

"I know you don't like being the centre of attention," he began, feeling slightly awkward, lingering by the sink so that there was a bit of distance between them.

"To put it mildly," she said with a slight smile.

"But is that the reason you didn't tell me?" he asked.

His throat almost constricted as he asked it, so afraid of the answer that he would rather avoid the question.

"I suppose so," she said, moving her eyes off of him to look at the ground.

His heart sank a little, maybe there was more to it.

"Okay," he said, nodding, not letting his disappointment or worry cloud his face.

He crossed back to the table to pick up some more of the dishes.

"Tommy," she said suddenly, just as he was about to turn to move back to the sink.

"Uhuh?"

She seemed nervous and she tripped and stumbled over her words as she said, "I, ehh, I really like being here."

"I like you being here," he replied, his heart rising from where it had fallen, though he kept his voice and face as still as ever.

"Good," she nodded, "I really, err… I really appreciate everything you've done for me you know? For me and Lily. I didn't not tell you because I don't want to work for you – I know that's why you asked me here and I want to be useful."

"What?" he asked, confused.

He put down the dishes he had picked up and came around to stand in front of her, placing his hand under her chin, forcing her to look up at him, "Is that why you think I want to know when your birthday is?"

She bit her lip, "I don't know… I- I presumed so? I want to be able to pay you back for what you've done, you know, I do, I promise. But you said I should do the leaver's cert, so I figured I'd start work after I'd done that?"

He placed his hands on the side of her face, running his thumbs along her cheeks, "You are staying in school to do that certificate. And I need you to forget about this nonsense of paying me back – you don't owe me anything. I get," he broke off and took a deep breath, "I get a lot of joy out of you being here. You and Lily. And besides, this – it being your birthday – it came out because Lily saw me with some books for you and she asked me if I'd bought them for your birthday. I didn't. I bought them for you because the bets on today's race were the highest for ages. You have no idea how good your ideas are."

"Did you make a lot of money from the horse?" she asked, hopeful.

He shook his head, "Nope."

She raised an eyebrow at him and frowned.

He grinned, "Oh it's alright, I side-tracked Arthur from his anger by focussing him on your birthday instead. But I didn't mean to make the money today. I wanted the horse to win, to let them think the magic was real. And word will spread, so the next time we do the powder trick, it won't be just the Garrison that'll bet on the horse, it'll be the whole of Small Heath. And you know what?"

"Either you make the money or then or the horse wins again because you're diabolical?"

He flicked his eyebrows, "The horse will win again."

"Is that right?"

He nodded, "Uhuh. And the third time we do it, we'll have the whole of Birmingham betting on it, a thousand quid bet on the magic horse. And that time, when we are ready, the horse will lose."

"When _we_ are ready? You mean when _you_ are ready, Thomas Shelby."

He moved his hands to her hair and shook his head with a smile, "Oh no – no this was your idea. We're a team, Rosalie Jackson."

"So, I'm riding the sidecar as you drive us straight into hell then?"

"Uhuh. But I promise we'll go in style."

She smiled, and laid her hands on his waist, "So if you're not angry with me because you thought I was trying to avoid working for you, why did you want to discuss me not telling you?"

"You haven't told me why you didn't tell me – you've just told me a reason that wasn't why you didn't tell me."

She smiled and ducked her eyes, "I don't know Tommy – you just do so much for me already and I just – I couldn't figure out how to tell you without it sounding like I was asking for attention, asking you to make a fuss or buy me things and I – I didn't want it to seem like that. Does that make sense?"

"Look at me," he growled throatily, waiting till she raised her eyes before he continued, "Did you ever consider maybe we wanted to make a fuss? No one in this house has eaten so well as they have done since you came – and on that note, I know you practically run this house for me. I owe you for that. And Polly owes you, for all the time she's got back to herself because of it. We all owe you. Christ, I've seen more of John's kids since you came than I ever have done – I think John's seen more of his kids than he had done. Katie's got someone she can be close to with Li-"

"You know," she interrupted him, chewing her lip, her eyes glancing to the back door, "I love that Lily gets to have a family now. That's why I told John to bring those kids over. But I think I must be the most selfish person in the world because every time she disappears out with Katie instead of staying with me I get – oh I don't know – almost a bit jealous."

He snorted, "Yeah well, me too."

"Lily loves you."

"I know, she told me," he said, unable to stop himself from smiling at the memory of it, "I love her too."

"I know you do," she said, softly.

They were quiet for a moment before he said, "Now, in terms of my attention – you should know you always have that."

"Do I indeed?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yup. I know it might not seem like it when things can be so mad around here, but you do."

She didn't answer him, but her eyes searched his face.

"You might have noticed my name wasn't on any of those presents you got."

She shrugged, "I didn't feel like anybody needed to get me anything, never mind you, so I didn't think anything of it."

He smirked, "Well, I got you something. But I thought maybe I could take you to dinner next Saturday – just you and me? So that I could give you my undivided attention – and your present?"

Plus it gave him time to get it engraved for her.

"Really?" she asked, a note of pleasure in her voice that she couldn't hide.

He smiled, "Really. And I figured since I didn't tell Ada, she could maybe take you to town during the day or whatever and get you a dress to wear as her present to you. If you want. Or you can go alone, whatever."

She shrugged, "I don't really need a dress."

"Oh, you do – they won't let you in in trousers."

"Aye cause that's fair, I presume men get to go in wearing trousers," she scoffed, rolling her eyes.

"I imagine they turn men away if they turn up wearing dresses though. And, on that note, I heard all about your women's liberation – we can discuss that over dinner, why you think I won't let you go help whoever Sylvia is."

She looked at him, "What do you mean?"

"What I say – I want to know why you think I wouldn't let you help some toymaker."

"Sylvia isn't a toymaker," she said with a smile, "She started the Worker's Socialist Federation."

"The Worker's Socialist Federation indeed," he repeated, raising an eyebrow.

He'd heard of it vaguely – it had grown from a women's suffrage group in London.

"Yeah, she started the East London Toy Factory during the war, to make work for the women in London whose husbands had gone off to war or been killed."

He nodded, "Right – well – that makes a lot more sense. I didn't get the impression you harboured a desire to design toys."

"I don't think I have any strong political allegiances to any parties - but she did stuff that actually helped, you know?" her hands flew about as she talked, her eyes sparkling with her clear admiration for the woman, "There was the toy factory for women, and a nursery to watch the kids of the women who worked in the factory. And she organised these legal advice centres for women who were having trouble whilst their husbands were at war. And she set up cost price restaurants to help women feed their families during the war, but so they didn't need to feel like they were charity cases."

"Well I know how you feel about the idea of charity cases."

"People deserve dignity, even if they're poor, Tommy."

"Oh, that I agree with," he said, nodding.

"But you don't agree with women's liberation?"

"I never said that."

"Are you against it?"

"Nope."

"Really?" she asked, narrowing her eyes.

"Really. I told you already - you can have whatever opinions you like as long as you don't scream them at me. I mean as far as I was aware you got the vote, so I don't really see what else you need but-"

"No," she cut him off, "Women over thirty got the vote."

"Yeah?"

"Men can vote from the age of twenty-one, Thomas. Why should women have to wait an extra nine years? Do you know the average life expectancy of a woman in this country is sixty? I doubt I'll make it that far given I come from here. So why should I wait over half my life to get a say in the last few decades of it?"

"Alright, I see what you're saying," he said, frowning at her relaxed acceptance of not making it to sixty, "But you'll be making it to sixty – and beyond - y'hear?"

"You reckon you can order me to stay alive, do you?"

"Yup."

"Well I'll give it my best shot. Though you should know the average life expectancy for a man is fifty-five."

"Maybe I'll change my mind on taking you to dinner, your conversation is awful."

"For a gangster you're not very comfortable with the idea of death, are you?"

He rolled his eyes at her, "For a sixteen-year-old, you're too comfortable with it."

He had been very comfortable with the idea of death once. He had accepted it. Cut off from the retreat, waiting for the Prussian Cavalry to come and finish them off. _In the bleak midwinter._ But then she had come along with the fire in her eyes and had burned away any remnants of frost or ice. She had burned the winter. And for the first time since then, he had begun to value this spring of his second life.

"Small Heath though, not much point in being precious around here, is there?" she said.

"We won't be here much longer."

"You think not?"

"My grandmother was born in a tent, me mother on a narrowboat," he told her, "Ada was born upstairs in this house, right above this room – I was sitting in here when it happened."

"And your children Tommy?"

He allowed a smile to flicker around the corners of his mouth, "My children will be born in a better house than this one. And I'll be sitting in a drawing room with a cigar when they come along."

"A cigar indeed?"

"Special occasion it'll be – I might even wet their heads with Scotch rather than Irish whisky."

"So, hell will have frozen over when you have children then?"

"If I'm taking you there in the sidecar I'll need to freeze it to make it safe for you first."

"Well if there's anyone could make it happen I'd believe it to be you Thomas."

"We'll make it happen - as long as you keep giving me your ideas."

"Well I hope since you're such a supporter of women's liberation I'll be getting compensated equally for my ideas."

"Oh, I'll ensure you get compensated, don't you worry," he told her, flicking his eyebrows.

"You know I almost get the feeling you're not promising me money when you say that," she smirked.

"You _almost_ get that feeling do you, you little wench? Well, we'll discuss your compensation on Saturday."

"Will we indeed?" she said, attempting to keep her voice steady, but unable to stop the breathiness coming through it as he stepped closer to her.

"Uhuh," he told her, running his hands to her waist and tightening his grip on it, "But one thing we need to get clear first, Miss Jackson."

"Yes Mr Shelby?"

"If I find you withholding information from me again, about birthdays or anything else, I'll equate it to lying and I'll turn you over my knee, you understand?"

Her eyes widened, "Tommy I'm sixteen now."

"I told you before," he said, a grin crossing his face at her wide eyes, "I don't care if you're fifteen or fifty, I'll put you over my knee – so take it as sixteen or sixty now. Because you bloody well will make it to sixty."

"Well I'll do my best sir," she replied sarcastically.

"Sir indeed?" he said with a smirk, "I could get used to that one."

She flared and smacked his chest, "Oh I bet you could Thomas Shelby!"

He was saved from replying by a wail from Lily sounding through the back door.

Immediately their moment was gone as she sprung to attention, going to the door in a few steps, him right behind her. The baby wasn't seriously hurt, but she clung to her sister as Rosie carried her in and sat her on the sideboard, pulling her dress up to look at the skint knees.

Tommy was dispatched to get water and some clean cloths, which Rosie used to wipe the blood away.

"What's going on in 'ere?" Arthur asked, appearing in the doorway, alerted by the child's cries.

"Lily's never going to walk again," Rosie turned and told his brother, quite seriously, "She's broken both her kneecaps."

Arthur looked horrified for a minute before he caught the smile playing at the corner of the redhead's mouth.

"Oh dear!" he joined in, crossing over to where they had gathered around the child, "I'll just need to carry her everywhere from now on."

"Just have a poke right here Arthur," she said, prodding at Lily's knees, "No bones left. She's shattered them clean away."

Arthur grinned and prodded the knee nearest him, as Lily giggled and said, "I have bones!"

"You sure?" Rosie asked, thoughtfully.

Lily poked her own knee and nodded.

"Alright, well, maybe we'll give it a go – Arthur if you stand there," she gestured a few steps back then turned her attention back to Lily, "I'll lift you down and we could try a small walk from here to Arthur, and if you can manage that there might be hope for you in the future, eh?"

Lily nodded and ran over to Arthur as soon as she was placed on the floor.

"It's a miracle – she'll survive," Rosie said, then, frowning as Arthur lifted her, "Though I am now faced with the realisation that the pinafore I had put on her before dinner has mysteriously vanished, even though she was definitely wearing it when she went out that door. Where's that gone Lily?"

"I didn't want to wear it Rosie," Lily pouted.

"I don't care, away and get it back on – you're lucky you didn't rip that dress when you fell on it."

"I don't want to!" Lily protested, shifting in Arthur's arms.

"You do as you're told Lily," Tommy warned her, raising an eyebrow.

"Come on Lily, we'll go outside and see if we can find it, eh?" Arthur said, stepping towards the door, though it was filled by Jack before they could go through it.

"I didn't push her!" Jack announced, looking between him, Arthur and Rosie.

Tommy managed to keep his face straight whilst Arthur snorted.

"You didn't push her, eh?" Tommy asked, crouching slowly down to address his nephew.

Jack shook his head.

"Come here," Tommy ordered, pointing at the floor in front of him.

The boy dawdled over nervously, and Tommy gave him a sharp smack as soon as he was within reaching distance.

"That was for being stupid enough to come in claiming innocence before anyone's even asked you if you did anything – she never said anyone pushed her," he told him.

"She didn't?" Jack asked, glancing up at Lily who was still in Arthur's arms.

"No, she didn't," Tommy replied, "Now away and play while you can, you'll be going home soon – it's getting on and there's school tomorrow."

It was late by their usual routine, but the kids had been having a good time from what he could see. Arthur joined them outside, finding Lily's discarded pinafore and managing to put it on her the wrong way around so that the front of her dress was not at all protected, before he started chasing them around.

"Didn't know he had that much energy still in him," Tommy mused as he and Rosie peered on from the window.

"Energy or whisky?" she snorted.

"I suppose it doesn't matter if the outcome's the same," he replied with a grin.

They watched as Jack and Alfie knocked Arthur down and began to climb on top of him. Finn and George were hanging back from joining in fully, but they were laughing as Arthur pretended to die from the onslaught of blows Alfie was raining down on his chest.

"I don't know why you let her put that dress on for a bloody Monday night at home Tommy," Rosie said, shaking her head as her attention focussed back to her sister, who was now crawling on the ground next to Arthur's still body, the unprotected front of the dress in direct contact with the dirt and the stone.

"Ah it's Small Heath, where else is she going to wear it if not on a Monday night at home?"

She clicked her tongue in response and shook her head at him.

Unable to help himself he moved behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, kissing the top of her head, "Stop fretting about the bloody dress. When we have that big house with the drawing room the kids will have nothing but fancy clothes to wear and you'll just need to get used to them running around in them."

"Is that right?"

"Uhuh."

She turned in his arms to face him and placed her hands on his elbows, "I don't care how much money you ever make Thomas, my children will know the value of it and they'll look after their things."

He smiled and kissed her forehead, "There was me thinking I'd be the strict parent."

She smirked and raised an eyebrow, "Up to you how you parent your own kids Tommy, I'm just talking about mine."

"Different sets of kids, are they?" he said, raising his own eyebrow.

"You can tell me on Saturday I suppose," she replied, then turned back to watch as Arthur rose from the dead and threw Katie over his shoulder.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Rosie took Lily off to bed not too much later, grumbling in an amused tone that she'd need to give her an extra bath because she was covered in mud – which the rest of the non-residents of number six took as their cue to go to their own homes.

Tommy chased Finn off not much behind Lily given how late it was getting and headed up the stairs himself, wondering what was taking so long. When silence answered his light knock, he stuck his head around the door that had once been John's to check what was going on – only to find Lily asleep in bed, clutching the bear she had named after him to her, and Rosie not there. He crossed and sat on the bed for a minute, stroking the blonde head lightly.

Lily blearily opened her eyes at him, but he shook his head and whispered, "Not morning yet bab, I'm just checking in on you, you go back to sleep," which she did, quite easily with a sleepy smile up at him.

He stared down at her for a few more minutes, wondering what he had ever done to deserve her. His biological kids would be born to him in a better house than this – and he meant to take her to a better house than this too. But she'd come to him in this house. And Finn and Ada too. It was hard to reckon that they had ever been as small and innocent as Lily was now, but they had been once. And she would leave it behind at some point and become as big a pest as Ada, he had no doubt, but he would be granted the privilege of guiding her through that transition. Polly had dealt with those years of Ada's upbringing.

He stood up quietly and stole to their fire, putting more coal on and stoking it a little before going across the way and sticking his head around Finn's door too. His little brother was fast asleep with a leg hanging off the side of the bed, so he crept in and folded his leg back onto the mattress, pulling the covers over him. Finn didn't stir as he moved him.

Back in the hall he figured she had gone to the outhouse and he just hadn't heard her cross the kitchen, but the light was on in Ada's room and his nostalgia for the days when she had been Lily's size had him wanting to check on his sister too – as much of a pest as she was - but he halted outside the room upon hearing the two voices.

He shook his head, how two girls who were so different to one another, and who had been so indifferent to one another not so long ago, could share the bond those two seemed to have developed he didn't know. He was going to head back downstairs and let her reappear when it suited her, leaving them to their women's talk, but he heard his name and pricked up his ears.

"Just ask Tommy about it," Rosie was urging.

"Aye, so I will – he'd bite my head off."

"Well if you think he'd bite your head off then stop it."

"I don't want to," Ada replied.

"I reckon you're going to end us both up in a heap of trouble," Rosie said darkly.

He smiled at her tone. For all her sauce she didn't sound like she did relish the idea of being in trouble with him. Unless – he worried suddenly – unless she didn't mean trouble with him, unless she meant trouble of a bigger sort? He strained to hear more.

"Stop worrying – he definitely just meant you."

"I'm not sure he did Ada – you heard what was said at that meeting on Saturday."

"That was to annoy Arthur by showing off about how much more he knew."

"Ada just ask him."

Ada sighed, "Look just leave it, eh?"

"It's all very well to say just leave it – he told me down there he'll take me keeping things from him as the same as lying to him Ada. He told me he'd…" she trailed off.

"Told you he'd what?"

"That he'd put me over his knee," she replied, clearly through gritted teeth.

"He wouldn't do that to you," Ada replied confidently.

"I'm not so bloody sure Ada, I can tell when he's being sarcastic - and he says it lightly enough, but I think he's quite serious."

"He's never spanked you and you're sixteen now – you're a legal adult. He can't spank you, it's ridiculous."

"He said whether I'm sixteen or sixty, Ada."

"Well he can bugger off if he thinks he'll be spanking me when I'm sixteen," Ada said defiantly.

He considered making his presence known, just to reassure her that he'd spank her anytime she needed it regardless of her age – but he wanted to know what exactly it was Rosie thought he'd spank her for – what exactly it was she was keeping from him on his sister's behalf. At least, he figured, if that was what it was then it wasn't a wider sense of trouble. It was just some secret of Ada's – probably about a boy.

"Look," Ada continued, "He's never spanked you before now so he's not going to start. If I get caught that's my problem, I won't bring you into it, I promise – alright?"

"No Ada it's not bloody alright. It's not just about me keeping it from him, it's about you being safe – you heard what he said on Saturday."

"You're being paranoid."

"If I am and you talk to him about it then it'll be no big deal so there'll be nothing to worry about and it'll set my mind at ease."

"You're letting Tommy get into your head."

"Yeah maybe I am Ada, but better in my head than on both of our arses!"

He suppressed a chuckle.

"Look, I'll talk to him, alright? Stop flapping. Let me do it myself though, okay?"

"Well just hurry up and do it sooner rather than later – I know he can be sour, but he cares about you, he just wants you to be safe."

"I'd rather be exciting than safe."

"Yeah, but that's the bloody problem Ada, isn't it? And I prefer my backside safe, I really don't fancy my chances against your brother's temper."

"Tommy doesn't have a temper," Ada replied, "Arthur's got the temper, Tommy never loses it. He just gets all quiet when he's angry – he doesn't lose his temper."

"Ada!"

"I'll talk to Tommy, I swear. Just don't tell him before I do, okay?"

"I'm not a squealer Ada, but talk to him soon, alright?"

Tommy smirked and walked away, shaking his head at the two of them and wondering what on earth it was Ada was going to ask him about.

He was quite touched at Rosie's urging of Ada to talk to him – and he didn't fully believe that it was only because she didn't fancy finding herself turned over his knee. He was sure she was genuinely concerned for his sister, but he trusted her judgement. If she'd been truly worried, she'd have bypassed Ada and come to him already. She wasn't an idiot. And he supposed she understood – she spent her days worrying about Lily the same way he spent his worrying about all of them.

He sat at the kitchen table, swirling whisky around a glass, but she didn't appear for a while – until he had almost finished it and was on his third cigarette.

"Didn't think you were coming back down," he said, keeping his voice nonchalant.

"Ada's a bit mad I didn't tell her about my birthday – was trying to smooth things over," she told him with a small smile.

"And are they smooth?" he asked, raising an eyebrow and wondering if she was about to tell him what the discussion he'd overhead had been about.

"More or less. I think the idea of her taking me shopping on Saturday helps," she said wryly, "Though after I hate everything she picks I don't know how enjoyable it'll be."

"Just take Polly's hairbrush and whack her with it if she annoys you."

"Aye so I will – so she can bludgeon me with it," she replied rolling her eyes, "That's how I've always wanted to go – head caved in by angry teenager with her aunt's hairbrush."

"Well if she gives you any trouble you let me know."

"I can handle Ada."

He nodded over the glass at her, "Good. You going to sit?"

She shook her head, "No, I'm tired – I just wanted to say goodnight."

He tried not to let his disappointment show on his face.

"Alright," he said, with a slight bravado, gesturing with the cigarette towards the living room, in the direction of the door, "I'm going out for a bit, so I'll lock up before I go."

She nodded and turned to go up the stairs, then changed her mind, turned back, came up behind his chair and pressed her lips very gently to his cheek, "Thank you Tom."

"I haven't given you your present yet," he said, turning his head to look over his shoulder at her.

She smiled, "I had a nice night though. And it was a good cake."

He stubbed out the cigarette, then stood up and took her hand, "Come on a minute," he said, leading her back up the stairs and leaving her standing at the top whilst he went into his room.

"These aren't for your birthday – they're for your idea," he told her, handing her the books when he reappeared, "I asked for romance for a woman who didn't like fantasy. Though there's a ghost in one of them I think - and I don't know how you feel about ghosts."

"I love these," she said, looking up at him, "I- I got them out the library before. But I've never owned them."

"If you've read them already we can go get something else?" he suggested, his voice sticking in his throat a little at the look in her eyes.

She shook her head, "No. These are my favourite books I've ever read - I've read them all over and over, I'd never tire of them."

"Even the ghost one?"

"Especially the ghost one."

"Good," he replied, nodding, unable to summon more words than that.

"They're not really romances though, was it a man who said they were?"

"Uhuh."

She snorted, "That makes sense. You know this one," she brandished The Tenant of Wildfell Hall at him, "Is basically famous among women's lib supporters for being the first of its kind?"

"I didn't know that," he said, keeping his face blank as he watched her.

She nodded, and turned her eyes back down to the volumes, tracing her fingers tracing reverently over their leather covers.

"Thank you," she said, her voice soft and quiet.

She had said thank you to everyone, for everything. For the pyjamas and the robe they'd got her, for the slippers he knew she would discard in favour of tucking her feet under him, for chocolates and the sweets. And he was sure she had genuinely meant her thanks. But there was a reverence to the way she looked at the books, and her thanks for them seemed to come from her very soul. It was more than he could cope with.

"You're welcome," he said, clearing his throat, "I'll see you tomorrow."

He practically ran down the stairs, leaving her at the top with the books, watching him go. His entire face felt like an inferno. Her small touch had spread across him like wildfire. He loved her. God he loved her. He'd keep her safe.

The door slammed behind him in his haste.

Charlie wasn't home yet so he went to the yard, finding him sitting by a fire and smoking.

"Cheers for warning me that you'd tell Polly," his uncle said sarcastically upon his approach, "Had her down this afternoon shrieking at me to get them moved as soon as the moon waned."

"I wasn't planning to tell her," he replied.

"She told me there's a new copper coming – a new Chief Inspector."

Tommy didn't reply.

"Is he coming for the guns Tom?"

Tommy took his time taking a cigarette out of his case and lighting up before telling his uncle, "I reckon he's looking for communists."

He did reckon Campbell was going to be looking for communists. It was just that he probably thought that the communists came with the guns.

Charlie nodded and stared into the fire.

"New copper arrives this week," Tommy told his uncle, "Dump the guns on Saturday, I'll get some of the boys to start a fight over in Nechells to take the coppers' attention over there."

"Dump them where Tom?"

"Somewhere they'll be found that we won't be traced to."

"Is that a bit of sense I hear coming from you?" Charlie said, moving his head to look at him.

"Just figure somewhere out, I'm leaving it to you, I can't be here - I've got dinner plans."

"Dinner plans?" Charlie snorted.

"Yeah," Tommy nodded, his face blank, "Important dinner plans."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your comments and kudos - it makes me so excited to think people are enjoying this story!


	33. Chapter 33

"He's arrived?" Tommy asked the Sergeant.

Moss nodded, grimly, "He's arrived."

Tommy lit a cigarette, staring at Moss, who stared dimly back at him.

"And?" Tommy prompted the man, not letting his ire at his slowness show, "Has he said _why_ he's arrived?"

"To decapitate you."

"To decapitate me personally?" Tommy asked, with a raised eyebrow.

"The Peaky Blinders."

He blew a cloud of smoke in Moss's face and watched as the man looked off to the side, not daring to complain.

"We were mentioned specifically?"

Moss nodded, "Said you are a vicious, merciless gang who blind those that see and cut out the tongues of those who talk – said those of us who take your bribes are worse than you."

"So, he's not a fan of you then."

Moss spat, his face betraying all the injustice he felt having the new Chief Inspector inflicted upon them was, "He doesn't trust any of us, he told us that. Said we could earn his trust, but it would take some earning. Might as well have said we could never expect to earn it. Then had the fucking cheek to bring in his lot from Belfast to 'bolster our ranks' as he called it. Said they were good men, from God-fearin' families."

"And what are you?" Tommy asked, hoping to stoke the man's conniption.

It worked.

"What am I indeed?" Moss growled, "I'm as God fearin' as anyone ought to be – and more than most. But I'm not Irish, am I?"

"They're all Irish then, everyone he's brought?"

Moss nodded, disgust plain on his face.

This was good news. The new Chief Inspector had pissed off his entire existing police force on his first day. Tommy could work with that.

"When do his new Irish force start?"

"They were all sworn on today – they'll be on the streets from tomorrow, he says."

"A whole force, specifically for us," Tommy smirked.

"Not just for you," Moss replied, confirming the suspicions Tommy held.

He raised an eyebrow expectantly.

"There's worse than you according to him - the IRA Fenians, and the Communists – _blacker hearts still_ , that's what he said. But he reckons you're the root of it – said you lot cause the corruption and then they feed on the puss of it, like maggots in a corpse. Said like maggots left to swill they'd eventually swarm like flies and spread their rotten philosophy across the country and across the world."

Tommy smirked to himself. Across the country and across the world. This man's fear of Bolsheviks and the IRA ran deep. That was useful to know. A man of fear could be manipulated. People saw what they expected to see. A man could be made to see his worst fears – more easily than he could be made to see the truth.

"Said you lot and them are our enemies – a three headed beast. Said he'd decapitate each one – and swore by God that he'd do it."

A three headed beast. How appropriate. There they were, the Peaky Blinders, the Bolsheviks and the IRA - Cerberus, guarding the underworld. They'd let him in, but they'd never let him leave.

The dank, dirty underworld of Birmingham.

And he thought they were the least of his worries. That meant he'd come for them first.

Tommy produced some pound notes from his inside coat pocket and slipped them to Moss.

"Earn his trust for me, Moss."

"Yes sir, Mr Shelby," Moss replied, tucking the notes into his own inside pocket.

Tommy turned and headed for home.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

As it was, Moss had no time to report on when they could expect the attack – because it came the next day. The man moved fast, that was sure.

After Tommy had taken Lily off to the tearooms last Saturday, Arthur had decided he was taking this Saturday off, going to the cinema, with two prostitutes he'd picked up on his way home from The Garrison the previous night. Tommy had wondered how bloody lonely his brother had to be to want to take whores on dates, but when Arthur appeared back in the shop, bloody and beaten, any thoughts about why he hadn't just been in the shop as normal that day had left his head.

Rosie and Ada appeared on the stairs at the commotion, they had been getting ready – or at least, Ada had been getting ready, Rosie appeared to be as ready as she ever was – to go to town and get the redhead a dress for their dinner that evening.

"Get Lily out of here, she doesn't need to see this," Tommy barked up at her.

She nodded and went down the stairs, through to the living room where Lily was sitting colouring in. He heard the front door close. He was impressed with how quickly and wordlessly she adapted, he was sure this was the first time she had seen a man quite so bloody being supported through a room – but she didn't seem phased in the slightest, instead doing as she was directed with no fuss. Ada stood staring – looking more shocked than Rosie had.

"Get out the back and get some water," he snapped at his sister.

She started and frowned at him, her eyes glancing to John, but she did as he bid her.

"What happened?" he demanded of his brother as soon they had him sat in the kitchen.

"I met the new Chief Inspector," Arthur hissed through his teeth.

Tommy nodded. He had guessed as much.

"Was Moss there?"

Arthur nodded, looking angrily at him, clearly not understanding his reason for the question. Moss was earning some degree of trust then. Or the man had taken him along to show Moss exactly what lengths he was prepared to go to, to show him that he had the power to act as wild here as he had done in Ireland. Whether it was intimidation, or trust, Moss had been taken along for the ride. That was good news for them.

"Anyone else?"

"Two Irish men, in uniform."

"Right, John – pass me some whisky," he said, glancing to his younger brother.

John started to rifle through the cupboards as Ada appeared back in.

"Get that heated, quickly," he barked at her.

Polly appeared in the doorway, "Rosie's in mine with Lily," she announced, surveying the scene, "I thought I'd better come see what was happening – she said it looked bad."

"His hand Polly," Tom said – gesturing to the thumb sticking out at the odd angle.

Polly went to the big cupboard and pulled out a box of rudimentary first aid things, clicking her tongue as she did so, "We need more bits."

"Then get more bits Polly," he snapped at her, "John, what's taking so long?"

"There's no fucking whisky – no fucking nothing. What the fuck, Tommy?" John replied.

"Get what's in the shop then," he snapped.

He hadn't been to the Garrison all week to pick up any supplies. He'd been – God he hated how ridiculous he sounded admitting it, even to himself – he'd been too nervous about the dinner that night. He'd spent his time thinking about what to say, about how to say it. And he'd been in a foul mood all week, on edge – both because of his nerves and because of his uncertainty about what the new inspector's arrival meant, even if he didn't keep the guns.

He didn't like not being in control, he didn't like waiting for answers. Even since his walk through Small Heath that morning, counting the number of police on the street that he didn't recognise, his nerves had started to subside, he'd started to understand what they were dealing with. And now he understood more about the savage nature of the beast they faced.

"It's Saturday afternoon, there's nothing left in the fucking shop," John snapped back at him.

"Fine, I'll go – get him cleaned up as best you can," Tommy told his brother and sister, striding out the room, out the front door.

The Garrison was busy, and Tommy went into the snug to use his window to demand service. He didn't have time to wait behind half the fucking football team who were there to hydrate themselves on their way to the match.

"Hello!" he shouted, throwing open the frosted glass doors.

He started as he realised it wasn't just Harry behind the bar, as expected, but a woman too. A woman he had never seen before – and it was her who approached him.

"I need a bottle of rum," he told her, not waiting for her to make pleasantries or ask questions.

"Grace – whatever it is, it's on the house," he heard Harry tell her as he counted money out from his pocket.

"A whole bottle?" she asked him.

He kept his eyes down as he said, "Yeah," and placed the coins on the sill.

She had an Irish accent.

"White or dark rum?" she asked.

He looked up, having stilled the flicker of surprise at the accent, "Don't care," he told her – and watched as she turned to fetch it.

His eyes flicked to Harry, who was now serving the football crowd, not paying him or the barmaid any attention. When had she arrived? Had Harry asked for someone or had she appeared looking for work? He'd need to find out.

"Harry says it's on the house," she said as she appeared back at the window, placing a bottle of dark rum down before him.

He peered at her, "Are you a whore?" he asked, watching her to gauge her reaction.

Every barmaid – every native barmaid, that was, every barmaid who was meant to be a barmaid in the places of the world that were like this one – would be used to this question, they'd have an answer for it. Her accent was soft. And, as he suspected, she had no answer – on the contrary her eyes widened, and her mouth opened a little in shock.

"Because if you're not, you're in the wrong place," he said – and turned and walked away before she had to think of an answer.

She was in the wrong place alright. But why was she in the wrong place – that was the real question? But that was for thinking about later. For now he lit a cigarette and hurried back, the bottle in his hand.

"Let me see him," he said, pushing his way back into the kitchen once he was back at number six.

Ada backed out of the way and he passed Arthur the bottle, "Alright, have this."

His brother winced as the alcohol touched where his mouth had been opened by the inspector, but he put the bottle down once Tommy had lifted the cloth out of the water and squeezed, knowing what was coming. They had done this on the battlefield enough times to know.

"You're alright," he told Arthur as his brother hissed whilst Tommy swabbed at the open wounds on his face, disinfecting them.

Arthur grabbed his wrist, "He said Mr Churchill sent him to Birmingham," his brother told him, his eyes looking up, pleading with Tommy to make sense of it for him.

"National interest he said," Arthur continued, "Something about a robbery."

Tommy extracted himself from his brother's hold and stood back, dragging on his cigarette and processing what had been said, feeling Polly's eyes on him and not looking to her.

He had questions - but he couldn't ask Arthur about them. Couldn't let him know that he had known about the robbery before now.

Had Moss been there when this was said? Did Moss know? Had the inspector decided to trust Moss? Or had Moss been lying to him yesterday – did Moss, did fucking Moss of all people, think he was going to double agent Tommy Shelby? He'd pay Moss a fucking visit.

"He said he wants us to help him," Arthur growled out, still breathing heavily through the pain.

"We don't help coppers," John interjected immediately.

Arthur held up a hand over his shoulder to quieten John, but kept his eyes on Tommy, looking up to him, asking what to do.

"He knew all about our war records," Arthur told him, "Said we're patriots, like him. He wants us to be his eyes and ears. I said-"

He broke off and cried out as Polly pulled at the bandages she was wrapping around him.

If there was one thing Tommy would credit Arthur with, it was bravery in the face of physical pain. He had consistently gone back to their father every time he reappeared, had taken the beatings just to be near the man. He had learned to hold it in, it was the only praise their father ever gave him – _'At least you've stopped snivellin' now, eh?'_ Their father had been cruel, had taunted him when he had cried. And Arthur had learned to stop it, out of desire to impress him. For Arthur to even hiss now, as Polly tended to him – his brother had to be broken pretty bad.

Arthur turned his eyes, hazy, back to Tommy, "I said we'd have a family meeting and take a vote."

Tommy didn't answer. He was still thinking. He had known the man hadn't really been there for them, he had known he was coming for the communists. Truthfully, he hadn't thought much on the IRA being in the man's line of vision – but he had come from Belfast, so regardless of what Churchill had said, the man would look for IRA.

His thoughts went to the woman from the bar.

If she was there, from Ireland, because she was a barmaid by trade – which he'd assessed already that she wasn't – she'd have gone to The Black Lion, or one of the other Irish pubs. If she was Catholic that was. Or if she wanted to infiltrate and find the IRA, she'd have gone there.

But if she wanted an understanding of communists and local thieves? For that, she was better at the Garrison.

And if she had come for that reason – if she had come alongside her countryman – maybe there was a reason for her to avoid the pubs frequented by those loyal to the IRA. Maybe they would have known of her. He'd need to go over there and do some digging too. But he'd need to be smart. Wouldn't do to ask about a barmaid out of nowhere.

But if he was right – the fact she'd situated herself out of the Irish community. It either meant she was hiding from the IRA, for fear of recognition. Or it meant they considered communists more likely to have taken the guns than the IRA.

But back to the man…

He had known they wouldn't be his true priority. But he hadn't suspected this – that the man would attempt to align with them. Attempt to beat them into submission.

Or beat Arthur into submission.

If the man had gone for Arthur, then the man knew only what his papers had told him. Moss hadn't informed him who to go for to get them onside. He hadn't told him to go for him.

"Well why not, hmm?" Arthur demanded, clearly displeased with Tommy's silence, "We've no truck with Fenians or communists."

Why not indeed? Why not let the man think they would play docile to him? Why not operate right in front of his nose, where he wasn't looking because he _wanted_ the communists or the IRA to be behind it? Feed him information he wanted to hear? Why not?

Well, because it was risky. And he'd promised not to risk them.

So, he wouldn't risk them, he'd handle it himself.

He'd asked that woman, that supposed barmaid, if she was a whore. Was that where he wanted Rosie and Lily? Was that where he wanted their future children? In a place where a woman would be used to that kind of a question. True, the feisty little redhead could handle that question, he was sure of that. In fact, she'd probably chew off the ear of the man who asked it until he regretted ever asking it. But just because she could didn't mean she should. He wanted them away from here. And maybe these guns, handled carefully, were the way to do it.

He still hadn't heard from Billy Kimber, after all.

Plus, as he looked to his brother, bloodied and battered, the old protectiveness Tommy had always felt over Arthur kicked in. This was just like when Tommy had battered their father back, in the days when their father had laughed at his older brother. There had always been a softness to Arthur, a longing in him for their father's love and approval. Tommy didn't know or understand why, but he had never felt that for their father. He had been glad when he had gone. Even as a child, Tommy had felt more anger for his father, more resentfulness to him about the way he treated Arthur and their mother than he did any want for his tenderness or care.

He had been pissed off with Arthur recently, pissed off with his drinking and his stupid pride and his determination that he was their leader because he'd been born first, not because he should be. But underneath his irritation, he still wanted to protect his brother. He was angry, that his brother had been targeted. And he wanted revenge for it. He wanted to make sure the stupid cunt realised it had been a mistake to try and fuck with them. A mistake to consider them the least of the three heads.

"What's wrong with you?" Arthur asked, then turned to their aunt for, "What the fuck is wrong with him lately?"

Arthur had been getting used to Tommy being in a better mood since Rosie and Lily had come to stay. To him being more mellow. His mood that week, though it would have been usual once upon a time, had thrown everyone.

Everyone except Rosie, who had simply taken him in her stride and made him steak pie and Victoria sponge and sat next to him, reading her book and not interrupting his thoughts, but being there. Consistently being there. And laying her head on his shoulder to let him know she was there. And bringing Lily up on the sofa with them to show them her drawings and tell them her little stories. She had been his only calm. Though, conversely, every day that she had provided relief for him had served only to make it even more important that he got things right this evening.

And now this had happened, and she wouldn't be able to get the fucking dress.

"If I knew I'd buy the cure from Compton's chemist," Polly said, looking up him as she tied off the bandages and sat back.

"Well according to you we need more bits," he said, gesturing at the tin of bandages and creams, "So get yourself to fucking Compton's chemists and see if they've got any cures for a man trying to manage the most fucking unmanageable family there ever was."

"I'm managing the family Tom," Arthur growled.

"Aye, that's why I'm bringing up the two youngest and generating all the new business leads to expand us while you drink and whore your way through life?" Tommy snapped at his brother.

They glared at each other for a minute, whilst the rest of the room was quiet. They needed to have this out, he knew that. They all knew it.

But this wasn't the time.

"Clean yourself up, I'll get Rosie back – we can have a vote," he told Arthur and headed out onto Watery Lane.


	34. Chapter 34

"We're having a vote, need your input," Tommy said when he opened Pol's front door and laid eyes on Rosie, who was curled up on the sofa, clearly in a world of her own.

"Tommy, I drew a dress for Rosie," Lily told him from where she sat on the floor.

"Drew her a dress, eh?" Tommy said, raising an eyebrow.

"Uhuh, she said she needed one for tonight and the shops would be closing, and she wouldn't get one and they wouldn't let her in in trousers."

"Well, let me see then," he said, coming in properly and closing the door behind him.

She held up a piece of paper with a green triangle on it – topped off by a face with red hair. It wasn't bad, to be fair. You could tell who it was meant to be, at any rate.

"Green's Rosie's favourite colour," Lily told him.

"I know," he said, smiling at the child in her earnest.

He sat down on the floor and pulled Lily on to his lap, "Do you think your sister will forgive me if we have to move our dinner from tonight to another night?"

"Uhuh," said Lily, unconcerned, "Rosie lets you get away with murder."

He snorted, "Does she indeed? Did she say that?" he asked Lily, cocking his eyebrow at the redhead.

"No," Lily replied, "Aunt Polly does."

"Oh, Aunt Polly does, I'll have words with Aunt Polly about that."

"How's Arthur?" Rosie asked him.

He nodded, "He'll be fine when we get back."

She nodded in response, understanding.

"Lily you gather up your things love," she told her sister, gesturing to the papers and crayons that covered Polly's floor.

He let the child slide off his lap to pick up her bits and pieces and stood up, crossing over to the sofa. She gave him a sad smile.

"I'm sorry," he offered her, sitting down.

"It's not your fault," she said, with a sigh, "You didn't mean for Arthur to get beaten. And if Ada had been ready earlier we'd have been away, and I'd have got the bloody dress."

"I'll need to take care of a few things tonight anyway now - so even if you'd got the dress we'd still need to move it," he said, reaching out to pat her thigh, "We'll go another night, I promise."

She nodded.

"It adds an irony to this," he said, reaching into his pocket and producing the box, holding it out to her.

"Is that a present?" Lily asked, abandoning her task of getting her things together to watch them.

"Yup, for your sister for her birthday," he told the child, "I was going to give her it tonight, but we'll need to wait for dinner now – and I don't want her to wait any longer for her present."

"What is it?" Lily asked, her eyes bright.

"A promise," he answered, smiling and reaching out to muss her hair.

She took it as an invitation to put her started pile of papers and crayons down and climbed up to sit in his lap as Rosie opened the box.

"It'll go with your suit," he told her, "The chain is at home, I picked this up this morning – that's why I had it in my pocket."

She lifted the watch out of its velvet bed, looking between him and it, her eyes wide.

"Do you like it?"

"Tommy, it's too much," she said eventually, her voice slightly croaky, "It's beautiful – of course it is – but it's too much. You need to take it back."

She tried to hold it out to him.

He shook his head, "I can't – I picked it up this morning from being engraved. It can't go back."

She turned it over and her fingers traced the words. Silence hung over them for a while, until Lily ran out of patience.

"Let me see!" she demanded, holding her hand out.

Rosie's eyes lifted to her sister.

"Alright," she said with a small smile, "But be very careful."

Lily screwed up her face as she looked at the back.

"What does it say Tommy?" she asked, turning in his lap to brandish it up at him.

He took it from her and kissed her head, "It says – _A reminder that you have my attention all of the time, for all time._ "

"What does that mean?" she frowned.

"It means your sister is very special to me," he said, his eyes shifting to the sister in question.

"Am I special to you?"

"Of course you are sweetheart, you're my best girl," he said with a grin, squeezing Lily's waist.

"I don't want a watch for my birthday," she told him, a look of worry on her face at the idea.

"Lily!" Rosie admonished, frowning.

He raised an eyebrow, "When is your birthday Lily?"

"Not for ages," she sighed, "In August - I'll be seven and I want a pram to push Tommy and Sylvia around in. I saw a girl with her dolls in a pram in town, but it wasn't like a basket with wheels or a shopping trolley, Tommy, it was a proper pram!"

"A proper pram, eh?" he said, amused.

Rosie was still frowning, "We'll wait and see if you deserve anything for your birthday – lots of girls don't get a thing. You'll just remember to be grateful for anything anyone is nice enough to get you Lily; I don't want to hear any more of that entitled attitude."

The bab looked to her sister, then back to him, "Tommy please – please I want a pram!" she implored.

He kissed her head, "I'll think about it Lily, but you better settle or your sister will be cross, and I'm trying to have a nice moment with her giving her her present."

He held the watch out to her and she took it from him, carefully placing it back down in the box.

"Well I think it's beautiful, though God knows it's too fancy for me," she said, snapping the box shut and looking up at him.

"You can count the time until we get that dinner, eh?" he said, over the top of Lily's head.

"I suppose I've got a fancy watch to count it on."

He grinned, "And I've got a fancy fountain pen, between the two of we're quite the pair."

"Can I have something fancy?" Lily asked.

Rosie laughed, "You're fancier than us Lily; you've got a fancy Christmas dress and a fancy dolls house and fancy dolls to go in it."

"The fanciest child in Birmingham, that's what you are Lily," Tommy said, running his fingers across her ribs so she squealed, then he stood up and tossed her into the air above him, catching her as she came back down to tell her, "We're just the ragamuffins running behind you trying to catch up with your levels of fancy."

She laughed at him and Rosie got to her feet, winding her arms around her sister's waist, "That's the truth of it Lily, but what you're not too fancy for," she said, plucking her out of his arms, "Is picking up your own things so get tidied up, everyone's waiting for us at home."

She placed Lily on the ground and turned to the sofa, picking up the box she had left there.

"Thank you Thomas," she said softly.

"You're welcome. We'll have that dinner – soon - I promise," he told her, running his hand down her cheek.

She raised an eyebrow and smirked, "I'll be timing it – I'll measure exactly how soon 'soon' is, and I'll hold you to _for all time_."

He nodded and smiled, "Alright."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

They decided to help the copper – or at least, appear to help the copper. Polly glared at him as he made the case for it, but she voted with him – they all did, even John in the end. Arthur seemed relieved – and didn't bring up the note Tommy had left on.

"What are you still doing here?" he asked Pol once the others had dispersed.

It was going on five – Rosie was in the kitchen making dinner, Ada had disappeared up to her room and Lily was drawing on the floor in front of the fire.

His aunt looked up at him, from where her eyes had been focussed on the child, "I thought I was watching Lily and Finn tonight? Where is Finn anyway?"

"On the path to not sitting comfortably for a week, I've looked out the front and the back and can't see him anywhere and he's been bloody well told!" Tommy growled, gesturing to the doors with his cigarette as he spoke.

"I found him at the cut last Saturday," Polly told him, her eyes dark, "Gave him a good smacking for it so if he's there again I'm going to put him over my knee and take my hairbrush to his backside."

Tommy nodded, "I thought he'd caught some from someone last Saturday, wasn't sure who or why though."

His aunt nodded grimly.

"That aside though – who asked you to watch Lily and Finn, Ada was supposed to be in tonight as far as I knew?"

His aunt frowned, "Ada's going out, she asked me to keep an eye on them."

"She never asked me about going out," he bristled.

"She didn't tell me she had done, but I presumed you knew," Polly told him, pursing her lips.

He shook his head and went to the kitchen.

"Ada's apparently going out tonight – did you know about it?" he asked Rosie.

He could tell from the way her head jerked up and she frowned that she hadn't known before she even answered to confirm her being in the dark as much as he was.

"Ada!" he shouted in the direction of the stairs, "Down here! Now!"

His sister appeared and stopped on the stairs.

"I said down here, not stand on the stairs," he snapped, tossing his cigarette down, still smoking, to an ashtray on the sideboard.

"Tommy, what is it?" she sighed, clearly exasperated as she trailed down the stairs towards him.

His anger flared that she would dare show him her exasperation rather than gather from his tone that a contrite attitude was what he required. He waited until she was in front of him, then grabbed her ear and pulled, causing her to wince and tilt her head to him, just like he had done when he was a child and his mother had yanked on his ears to pull the truth from him, or to make him listen.

"You want to explain why Aunt Polly thinks she's to be here to watch Finn and Lily tonight?" he growled, raising an eyebrow.

She bit her lip – finally showing a glimmer of humbleness – "Well you and Rosie were going to dinner…"

"And?" he prompted when she trailed into silence.

She looked up at him.

"Where were you going to be Ada? Why couldn't you keep an eye on them?" he asked, shaking her by the ear he still held tightly between his thumb and finger.

"I wanted to see my friends Tommy – you've let me every other week!"

"There's the point Ada," he snarled, "I've _let_ you – you live under my roof and I'm in charge of you. You _will_ ," he emphasised his point with a sharp smack, "ask my permission before you go anywhere other than school. You _will_ -" another smack "-keep me informed of your whereabouts at all times. You _will not_ -" he landed two this time, "-take it upon yourself to try and sneak out as soon as I'm out of the house – and organising for your aunt to come and watch the kids behind my back when you knew I was expecting you to do that _does_ -" he smacked her again, "count as sneaking out. You, young lady, are going nowhere tonight except over my knee."

He dragged her the two steps over to the kitchen table and pulled out a chair with his free hand, swirling it round – but as he was about to sit in it and set the protesting teenager on the journey he'd just promised she _could_ take, he heard the front door open and Polly exclaimed, "Finn Shelby!"

Changing his mind on commencing the spanking at that moment, he headed through to the living room to see exactly what had caused Polly's exclamation, Ada still firmly held by her ear, scurrying beside his strides to try and minimise the pull as much as possible.

His heart and stomach swooped when he saw his little brother – dripping wet from head to toe. And stinking the room out. He glanced at Polly. Her hand had obviously gone to her mouth in shock when Finn had walked in, her heart probably dropping as his had done, but she was regaining herself and he could see her hand balling into a fist, which he knew would go to her hip, her mouth disappearing into a line.

"Been down at the cut Finn?" Tommy asked his brother, keeping his voice low and quiet.

The boy gulped. There was no way for him to deny it, but he feared the outcome. At least Finn had a penitent look to him, which was more than could have been said for Ada, even now.

"Fell in the bloody cut did you?" Polly demanded.

Finn's wide eyes flickered between him and their aunt.

"Come here," Tommy ordered, glancing at the floor in front of him.

Finn walked like a condemned man. Tommy grabbed his brother in the same hold he had on Ada, pinching the top of his ear and pulling his head to a tilt.

"Where have you been told you can play?" Tommy demanded of his brother.

"Aow! Ouch, Tommy, I'm sorry!" Finn cried out.

"Finn!" he warned, tugging the ear.

"In the lane Tommy," the boy replied, coming on to his tip toes in a bid to lessen the pull.

"And where have you been specifically told you can't play?"

"The cut Tommy."

"Where did Ada bring you back from two weeks ago?"

"The cut Tommy."

"And I smacked you about that kitchen for it, didn't I? And where did your Aunt Polly find you last week?"

"The cut."

"And he got a good smacking last week for it too," Polly broke in.

"And, despite that," Tommy said, keeping his voice neutral, "Where did you find yourself today Finn?"

"At the cut Tommy," Finn whispered, tears beginning to come down his cheeks.

"In the cut from the looks of it," Polly snorted, her anger clear.

Tommy tightened his hold on both siblings' ears, "What do I have to do to make you fucking listen to me?"

"Tommy, it hurts," Ada whined, her hand going to the ear he was holding.

"Does it hurt enough Ada?" he snapped.

He took a deep breath to steady himself, then released then both, throwing them away from him.

"Sit," he said, pointing at the sofa.

"Finn Shelby don't you dare sit!" Rosie exclaimed from the doorway suddenly, in a voice she never addressed Finn in - one that was a strange mix of panic and authority.

He hadn't realised she had followed him through and he looked to her, raising an eyebrow.

"I'm sorry Tommy, I'm not trying to interfere," she said, holding her hands up, glancing to Finn and back to him, "But he," she gestured to his brother, "Is soaked through with filthy cut water – if he sits on that sofa it'll seep into it and I'll never be able to get rid of the smell and it'll end up needing replaced."

Tommy felt the corners of his mouth tug upwards slightly at her concern.

"Come here," he said, as gently as he could manage, tilting his head to bring her to him.

He placed an arm around her waist and kissed her hair before pushing her around the back of the sofa, past where Finn had frozen and then telling her, "Right you sit here with Ada. Finn," he addressed his brother, "You stand next to the sofa and don't touch anything, I'm not having your refusal to listen to me make more work for Rosie, it's a bloody disgrace what she does in this house and neither of you two help her in the slightest."

Lily was still on the floor, though she had abandoned her drawing and was watching him with wide eyes, her fingers firmly in her mouth.

"Hey, Lily bab, you c'mere," he said, bending down to pick her up, "You're not in any trouble sweetheart, no need for these fingers in your mouth, nothing to worry about, eh?" he coaxed at her, prying her fingers gently out of her mouth, bouncing her on his hip a little.

"That's a good girl sweetheart," he told her, once the hand was completely removed, "Now you sit with your sister," he said, passing her down to Rosie, who pulled her onto her lap and hugged her to her.

Polly took the cue to sit herself on the seat by the fire, her eyes on him.

"Right," he addressed them all, but his eyes flicked between his sister and brother, "This ends here and now. Everyone in this house should always have been where I thought they were at any time – that was always a rule. And it's not a hard one – if I think you're out the back, you should be out the back, if I think you're out the front, you're out the front, if I think you're in the house, you're in the house – not in your friend's house three streets over. I don't know where you two," he pointed between them, "Got the notion in your heads that that wasn't a rule anymore, but you just fucking forget that notion – right now. And from now on, if I find you not where you're supposed to be I'm going to light your arses up, understand? Not just a couple of smacks and a warning – you'll be eating standing up for a week, got it? And," he turned to glare at Finn, "If – worse than that – I find you not only _not_ where you're supposed to be, but in fact, somewhere you've been specifically told you _can't_ be – you're not going to sit for a month. From here on, there will be no more scoldings, no more warnings, no more chances. They've all been had – this is it. As plain as I can bloody well make it to get it through your thick skulls. You will do as you're told. You will go where you're told. You will ask my fucking permission before you go anywhere and you _will_ abide by my decisions, is that clear?"

His eyes went between his brother and sister until they had both nodded.

"Good. This isn't a game. Ada, you saw Arthur earlier. There's someone new in town," he said, his eyes going between all of them now, "And they are not our friend, but we have business with them. This man is a dangerous man, and Arthur and Aunt Polly and I are handling it. But for us to handle it, and for me to keep you safe, I need you all to be where you're supposed to be. I need you all to obey me. I need you all to listen to me. Is anyone unsure on any of that?"

"Who's the man Tommy?" Finn asked.

"Finn, were you in the family meeting last week or today?"

"No Tommy."

"Then it's none of your business. You don't need to know who he is – the fact is he could be any man on the street at any time."

"Or any woman," Rosie said.

He fought not to roll his eyes, "Or any woman. Anyone, at any time, could be a danger. It's my job to protect you all from those dangers, alright? But I need you to follow my rules so I can do that, we clear?"

He waited till they had all voiced their compliance.

"Good. Now, I have business tonight so here's what's going to happen – Finn, you're going to go out the back-"

Finn turned and started trudging through.

"-Finn!" he raised his voice, "I haven't told you what you're going out the back to do."

Finn raised his eyebrows.

"Don't you even think about pulling a face at me right now son," Tommy warned his brother, who smoothed his eyebrows back down, "When did you start going out the back for the strap, Finn?"

"After you came back from the war, Tommy," Finn answered, shifting on his feet.

"How old were you?"

"Nine, just about to turn ten."

"Uhuh, and I'm of the opinion your problem is you've been thinking of yourself as too old and grown up to do as you're told, so you're not going out the back for this. You're going over your Aunt Polly's knee like a little boy to remind you that you are, in fact, a little boy who will learn to do as he's told."

"And don't make the mistake of thinking you're getting off easily," Polly told him, "My husband died before you were born, but he died in that water, squeezed between a boat and a lock. A full grown man, Finn, not a little boy. You don't disrespect water; any river Gypsy will tell you that - my husband knew it and still lost to it. So, me and the back of my hairbrush are going teach you it, Finn. We're going to give you a damn good reason never to even think about playing by the cut unsupervised, ever again, do you hear me?"

Finn's hands had gone to his backside as he stood listening to her.

"Finn, get out the back and start getting water for your bath, you need to get in a hot bath before that chill sets in – but the minute you're clean and warm and dry Aunt Polly is going to blister your backside for you, make no mistake about it," Tommy told his brother.

Finn was looking close to tears as he headed out the door to obey him. Good. A bit of an improvement.

"Finn'll bathe in here, you and Lily can be in the kitchen, so it doesn't interrupt your cooking," he said turning to the redhead, who had the child still on her lap.

She nodded and went to move, but he held up a hand to still her.

"Lily," he said, crouching down and holding out his hands to the child, who came to him. He wrapped his hands around her waist and kissed her head, "You're a good girl most of the time, so you don't need to be too worried, alright?"

"Yes Tommy," she said, her voice quiet, slightly nervous.

"But I kept you in here to hear that because it does apply to you – I know you don't really go anywhere alone anyway, and you've never gone anywhere I've told you not to, but it's very important that you remember what I said. And if you do wander off on your own or if you go somewhere without telling me or your sister or Aunt Polly where you're going, I will give you a spanking Lily, same as Ada and Finn, do you understand?"

"I don't want a spanking Tommy," she whispered, shaking her head.

"I know sweetheart, but as long as you remember that you don't want a spanking anytime you think about wandering off or not doing as you're told, if that thought stops you from doing anything naughty then you won't get one, alright?"

She nodded, hesitantly.

"Who's my best girl Lily?" he asked, pulling her into him, rubbing her back.

"Me," she replied, wrapping her arms around him.

He could hear the smile coming back into her voice, so he squeezed her tightly and then released her, "Alright my little love, why don't you take your drawing through to the kitchen table for me, so Finn can have his bath?"

She nodded and began to pick up her things.

He stood back up and looked at Ada, "I don't have time to deal with you right now, but you are also in need of a reminder that you are required to do as you're told, so you're going over my knee tomorrow morning before church and then you can sit on your sore backside for the whole service and remember how it feels every single time you think about agreeing to go somewhere."

"Tommy-" she started to say but he cut her off.

"From now on you do not make plans without the sentence 'I will have to check with Tommy,' entering your head – do you understand?"

"Yes Tommy, I understand - I promise! I don't need a spanking," she said, squirming.

"You do, Ada, you need a good spanking and you need to get that muck scrubbed off your face. And then you need to sit in here for the night, let your aunt go home and think to yourself about when and why you decided to become a deceitful little brat who thinks she's above asking for permission to do things and who thinks she can manipulate me and her aunt," he told her, glaring down with wide eyes, "I swear to god Ada, I'd better start seeing some repentance from you or it won't just be tomorrow morning, it'll be every morning at the kitchen table until I get a change in your attitude - and I won't care whose in the shop when it happens, are we clear?"

"Tommy it's not fair," she cried.

He yanked her up, gripping her arm in one of his hands and started lambasting her backside with the other, "Not fair. Do you know what's not fair, Ada? What's not fair is me constantly trying my damndest to keep you and Finn safe and the two of you throwing it back in my face every chance you get. I chose you Ada, do you understand? I chose to stay here and make sure you had someone looking after you. I try my best for you both, I really bloody well do, but you can't manage to show me the slightest bit of respect – you go behind my back, you sneak around – and I know there's a boy somewhere on the scene, don't you think for a minute I've missed the whispering you two," he glared at Rosie as he continued to wallop his sister – the redhead shrunk from his eyes, "Have been doing. I've kept out of it because I trust her judgement Ada, because she doesn't seem to insist on making a sport out of seeing just how much she can get past me on a fucking daily basis like you do."

"Tommy, Tommy I'm sorry – I'm sorry!" Ada cried out, hopping from foot to foot.

"Not as sorry as you're going to be," he promised, pulling her around to face him, "I've had it Ada, do you hear me? I have had it. This is done. There will be no more chances, no more answering back, no more disobeying me, no more disrespecting me. Now – get in that kitchen and wash your face."

He pushed her in the direction of the door with a final smack, waited till she had gone through it and then turned to Rosie, who was looking up at him from her perch on the sofa in a mix of wariness and determination.

He raised an eyebrow, "Out with it, what's going on in your head?"

She sighed but shook her head, "Nothing Tommy."

"I know you better than that," he countered, raising an eyebrow.

She bit her lip, "I need to think on it a bit, but I'll come back to you, okay?"

He frowned but nodded.

"So – you have business tonight?" Polly interjected.

He nodded again.

"Where?"

He looked over at her, "I'm going to track down Moss, hear what happened today from his point of view and then I'm going to take care of things."

She narrowed her eyes, but nodded and said, "Right, well I'm going to get that water heated for Finn's bath before he catches pneumonia."

He and Rosie regarded each other for a moment, but she didn't say anything. He could tell she was hiding something, something that was bothering her – and he figured it had to do with what he'd overheard between her and Ada on Monday night.

"I'll be out late, don't wait up for me,' he told her eventually, unable to stand the silence any longer.

"Okay," she nodded, still chewing on her lip.

He wanted to run his thumb along it, freeing it from her teeth, kiss it better where they had punctured it.

"I'm sorry tonight didn't go as planned," he told her.

She gave a slightly nervous smile but admitted, "Me too. I was looking forward to it."

He smiled back, pleased at her admission, "I'll see you in the morning – and we'll rearrange the dinner."

She nodded, and he turned to leave.

"Tommy!" she called after him, just as he had opened the door.

He turned to see she had stood up from the sofa.

"Check in on George will you? If Finn was at the cut chances are George was as well and John's probably at the pub already – will you make sure he's okay?"

He nodded, resisting the urge to cross to her and put his arms around her, "I'll check on him."

She nodded in return, and he went out the open door. She was a good woman, or a good – a good whatever they were in the _in between stage,_ as Polly had called it.

He did as she asked first, heading a few doors down to John's house and banging on the door, surprised when his brother pulled it open.

"Tommy?"

John was clearly as surprised to see him as he was to see his brother.

"Finn was in the cut today – not just by it, came home soaked," Tommy told him.

"Christ!"

"Yup – Polly's going to set his arse on fire so it'll be the first and last time. She brought up her husband."

"Oh, Finn's for it," John said, widening his eyes, "I'm glad I'm not in his shoes."

"Me too. She did miss out mentioning he was drunk as hell when he drowned, but I don't think that was the important bit as far as she was concerned."

John grinned, shaking his head, "So, did you just come over to tell me that?"

"Wasn't expecting you to be in," Tommy admitted, "Rosie said if Finn had been at the cut today George probably had been too, asked me to make sure he was alright."

"He's upstairs – probably been by the cut, but he's not been in it."

"John, with this new copper – they can't be where they're not supposed to be. You saw what he did to Arthur."

"He wouldn't use the kids?"

"I don't know what he would or wouldn't go – I'm going to find Moss, then I'm going to go ask around at The Black Lion, find out if anyone knows where Campbell's line is."

John nodded, "I'm heading to The Garrison Tom, wouldn't do no harm for you to be seen there tonight – make sure any word that's going around about Arthur doesn't have people thinking we're on the ropes."

Tommy pulled a cigarette out and lit up, thinking. He didn't want to go to the Garrison, for once in his life – he just wanted to find Moss, to get any information he could on this copper, to see Charlie about the guns and to go home.

But John was right.

The singing stopped as soon as they pushed open the door and people saw them though – so their reputation couldn't be too damaged.

He stared at the woman – at Grace – standing on a table, belting her song across the pub. And he thought of Rosie, refusing to sing a Christmas carol, her face going slightly pink as Ada had demanded that she sing for them. The woman on the table had a pleasant enough voice, but something about her seemed so brash and brazen as she stood performing, in contrast to the little redhead who didn't ever want anyone's attention. And yet, though this barmaid could stand and perform, she'd had no answer ready when he'd asked her if she was a whore. She had obviously been indulged in her performances before now – not heckled, not leered at, as she would be if she continued to perform in pubs like this one, in places like this. He needed more information on her – and soon.

"We haven't had singing in here since the war," Harry approached him, whilst the rest of the pub stayed silent, waiting for his verdict.

He gave the man a dirty look, "And why d'you think that is Harry?" he asked him, before flashing his eyes back to the woman.

She dropped her eyes and got off the table at his words. Brash and brazen enough to perform. But not stupid. She had been filled in on who he was since they had last met.

He followed John into the snug, keeping his concerns about the barmaid to himself. No point worrying them all. And the less they knew, the better.

He stayed longer than he had intended – long enough that when he left the Garrison to go in search of Moss he didn't have time to follow the figure who caught his eye. The figure in a light coat, sticking out against the grime of Small Heath. It had only been a flash, and it had turned a corner, out of his vision. But surely, _surely_ after what he had just said that evening, it wouldn't be Ada? She was brash and bold and brazen, he knew that of his sister. But his sister wasn't stupid either. And Rosie wasn't stupid, she wouldn't have let Ada go out tonight. Not after what had been discussed at the house. No, he was being ridiculous. Even if it did look a lot like that bloody coat she'd got for her birthday. No. It couldn't be. And besides, he needed to find Moss. To find Moss and then to get to Charlie's. He set off, in the opposite direction of the figure.


	35. Chapter 35

Moss didn't have much new information for him – only an apology and an assurance that he hadn't been aware of the plan to attack Arthur until that morning. Tommy accepted it as the truth - but warned Moss if he ever found out anything to the contrary he would take his eyes and his tongue and leave him with not much life in his body. Moss had paled and nodded.

"How are the other men liking him Moss?"

"No better than yesterday."

"Do they know he didn't serve?"

"Some of them do."

"Make sure all of them do," Tommy said, turning and walking away.

The war had been hell. But there was no quicker way now to turn those of them who had served against the one who didn't than to highlight it.

There were some in the reserved occupations who had been needed, sure. But there were some who had ensured they'd be kept back as the one doing that job that was needed. Campbell struck him as that type. He was a coward. And he was the type who knew it and hated it about himself. Only a coward tried to beat people into submission by placing four men against one. And by not even doing their own dirty work – by letting the other three do the actual beating.

There were similarities between them that he couldn't ignore – they both sat at the top, Campbell more officially than him, but their drive was different. Campbell was driven by fear, that much was clear – fear of the IRA, fear of communists, fear of the world he'd live in if they got their way – even fear of local razor gangs. Campbell's fear was an upset to the order of the world, the order he liked his place in. Tommy was driven by a need to punch up and out. He was driven by a refusal to stay in the order of the world he'd been born to, refusal to stay in the infantry line, ordered around by the cavalry. Refusal to accept the life he was supposed to. Ergo, as Rosie would say, it came full circle – he was the embodiment of what drove Campbell. Of what the inspector feared. And Campbell, there to ensure the order was kept – he was the embodiment of everything Tommy had to punch against. But he had the guns. So, he wasn't punching bare fisted this time. He was going to this fight with more ammunition that he could ever have dreamed of.

He arrived at Charlie's yard just as Curly was finishing hammering the final box shut and he and Charlie were loading it on to the boat.

"Uncle Charlie," he said, to get the man's attention, "A word."

"They're aboard. There's no moon," Charlie said, coming over, "We can take them out to the turning point beyond Gas Street and leave them on the bank. They'll be found by railway men first thing."

Tommy plucked his cigarette from his mouth and exhaled, thinking on it one last time before he committed.

"Is that agreement?" Charlie asked.

His Uncle Charlie knew him well, he could probably sense the fight in him.

Tommy blinked and didn't look at the man, but in that minute he had decided – he was committing to seeing this through. He was going to punch up and out – for him, for Rosie, for Lily. For Ada and Finn. Hell, even for Arthur – so nothing like what had happened that morning would ever happen again.

"I changed my mind," Tommy said, evenly.

"You what?" Charlie demanded of him.

He still didn't look to his uncle. This was his decision.

He nodded his head, a tiny movement that only anyone as close to him as his uncle would have seen, "I have an alternative strategy. Tell Curly to take her out to the old tobacco wharf, there's a lock up mooring we use to keep cigarettes – he knows it."

He could feel the tension in his uncle.

"When the boat leaves your yard, it's no longer your concern," he told him, in an attempt to reassure him.

Charlie puffed on his cigarette, evidently not reassured, "Have you lost your fucking mind?" he hissed, "Have you not seen the streets? They've sent a fucking army to find these things."

"That's right," Tommy agreed, smirking, "They've shown their hand."

"Their hand?" Charlie scoffed, incredulous.

"If they want them back this bad, they'll have to pay," Tommy answered, "That's the way of the world. Fortune drops something valuable into your lap, you don't just dump it on the bank of the cut."

"You're blood Tommy," Charlie said, "I've always looked out for you like a dad."

Tommy tried not to wince as he thought of the last time Charlie had started talking like this to him, of the time he had left the house and been too ashamed to go back and face them. Of how Lily had come running to his arms when he finally had plucked up the courage to return. Of how Rosie had understood the smoke and muck in his head, of how he had knelt in front of her and laid his head on her lap and begged forgiveness - and how she had offered it, given him it. He owed her the first true peace he had known, the first stillness, the first nights he slept dreamless and restful. So, he owed her this, he owed it to her to get them out of Watery Lane, out of situations where coppers would try and beat them into submission on the street.

"You're going to bring holy hell down on your head," his uncle said, "This copper takes no prisoners."

"I'm told he didn't serve," Tommy said, cutting his uncle off, "Reserved occupation."

"Is it another war you're looking for, Tommy?"

It was. A war he would win. A war against all the shit that kept them down, kept them operating in cash, kept them unable to move up even though they likely had more cash in their safe than the fucking copper had in his bank.

"The tobacco wharf," he told his uncle, refusing to be drawn in any further to Charlie's conversation.

He plucked the keys from his own pocket and tucked them into Charlie's, "By order of the Peaky Blinders."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

His thoughts were on Finn as he walked back to Watery Lane. He hoped Polly had got through to him where he had failed.

The thing was, he felt like a fraud trying to parent Finn at times. He had told Polly he knew how a boy's mind worked when she had pointed out he had never been as clueless with Finn as he was with Lily. And that was the truth, he did know how a boy's mind worked – because he'd had one. Almost everything he had to punish his brother over was something he'd done himself at one time or another. How many times had he been in the cut? And how was he supposed to know when to be lenient and let the boy off with a few swats and a warning and when to come down hard? If he had come down hard on Finn the first time he'd had proof he had been at the cut, maybe the boy wouldn't have been back there today, and wouldn't have fallen in – or dived in, fully clothed, whatever the hell had happened. His stomach clenched at the idea of what _could_ have happened. Thank god he had taken Finn swimming as a kid. The Moseley Road Baths had been a staple part of their weekly routine for years before the war – they had never been since he had come back.

He needed to find something for them to do. Something that wouldn't make Finn feel like a kid. The Spring fayre wasn't too far off, he'd take him to that with Arthur and John. But he probably needed something to do more regularly with the boy, rather than just going to the fayre when it came to town.

The problem was, all he had wanted to do when he was eleven was run around the streets with Freddie and Arthur and Danny, his own father had never been great anyway, but he'd been long gone when Tommy was eleven. He didn't know what fathers – or father figures – did with kids at that age. He had spent a lot of his time at Charlie's yard, with the horses. But Finn didn't care for horses, he wasn't as interested as Tommy had been – even as a child Tommy had played with horse figures, whereas Finn had always wanted the toy cars and planes that still littered his bedroom – no longer played with properly, at least not that Tommy knew of, but still important enough to Finn that he hadn't passed them on to George.

And as for Ada? She had been nine or so when he went, and still playing with her dolls and her tea sets. She had been starting to get an attitude and she'd been over his knee plenty, but she hadn't been a bad child – not really. Then he'd come back, and the dolls and tea sets were gone, and she didn't want to talk to him, she wanted to go places with her friends and swoon over the stars of her picture shows. He didn't know how the transition had happened.

He'd never been in charge of an eleven-year-old before – and he didn't want to fuck it up. But he didn't know what to do either.

He'd ask Rosie – she might have read something.

He was so distracted he was at the front door before he realised there was still light emanating from the front room of the house. He glanced at his watch, it was nearly midnight, but he was back earlier than he'd thought he'd be. He hoped Polly hadn't stayed. He didn't need her interrogating him. He took off his hat, shoving it in his pocket and opened the door.

It wasn't Polly though, it was the redhead who was still awake, her legs drawn up to her on the seat wearing her new pyjamas and robe they'd got her for her birthday, her nose in a book and her face screwed up as she read from it. She started and slammed it over when she looked up and saw him in the door way.

"Tommy! You're – you're earlier than – than I thought you'd be," she stammered, tripping over her words, her face flushing.

He raised an eyebrow at her nervous demeanour.

"I – I kept you a plate back, it's on the side," she stammered, sliding the book behind a cushion.

So, she was nervous - and she didn't want him to see what the little hardback was.

"What you reading?" he asked, smirking.

It was probably some romance she thought he'd laugh at her for having.

She froze, her fingers still on the volume.

"I'll heat it up for you," she whispered, clearly hoping he would allow her to distract him with the food.

"The book? You'll heat up a book for me, will you?"

"Tommy…"

There was a guilt to her, which he needed to figure out.

"Rosie?"

She met his eye, then bit her lip and dropped her gaze, finding the carpet suddenly more interesting.

"Give me it," he ordered her, holding his hand out.

She handed it over slowly, trepidation etched all over her body, from the tension in her wrist to the hitch in her breathing.

He took it and turned it over in his hands, his heart hammering.

"What the fuck is this?" he demanded, his voice cool, calm even, not betraying his internal rhythm.

"Tommy, I'm sorry – I just…"

"You just what?"

She didn't answer.

"You just sat there knowing I was trusting your judgement and all the while you were blatantly defying me?"

"No, Tommy," she shook her head.

"Then what? Because I clearly remember saying no fucking communists – I believe I said if one was coming near you, you should cross the fucking street, am I wrong?"

"No Tommy but-"

"But what? What? Why the fuck do you have their fucking manifesto?" he shouted suddenly losing the ability to control himself, waving it at her like a man possessed.

Why did she have it? What did it mean? Had she just decided to ignore his instructions?

"Tommy – please – please listen to me," she pleaded, her eyes wide.

"I'm fucking listening," he snarled at her, his own eyes wide.

The thing was, he wanted to listen. He wanted her to have some kind of explanation that would make it okay.

"Tommy, you told me no communists, I know that," she said, her voice small, but with a steel behind it, "But you didn't tell me why. And Freddie Thorne-"

She broke off as he snarled at the name, but he reigned himself in from saying anything, letting her continue.

"Freddie Thorne told me you'd been a communist yourself once. Said you were the one who got him involved in the first place."

He was going to fucking kill Freddie fucking Thorne.

"Tommy, I just wanted to understand – and I tried to ask you and you wouldn't talk about it."

He pinched his nose with his fingertips, breathing hard.

"Rosie – I have done my best to have your discussions. I have," he told her, his voice low and trembling with anger, "They don't come naturally to me, but I have tried. That was why I sat Finn and Ada and Lily on that sofa tonight and explained why I was so angry. But there are times I need you all to just do what you're fucking told, without questioning me and without needing a fucking discussion, alright? There are things I know a hell of a lot more about than you – and it's safer if you don't know some things, okay? I want you safe – I want you all safe and I don't know how the fuck I do that when you don't trust my judgement."

"I do trust it Tommy," she said, her own voice shaking slightly.

"Then what the fuck is this? Why did you need to read this?" he said, holding it out, his voice feeling like it might break.

"Tommy, I'm sorry – I-"

"Throw it in the fire," he said, still holding it out.

"What?"

"Throw it in the fire so we can be done with it."

"Tommy, I- I can't - it's not – it's not mine," she whispered, "If it was I mine I'd throw it in the fire, I swear I would. I promise you I would. But it's not mine."

"Whose is it?"

She didn't answer.

"Is it Freddie's?"

She shook her head.

"Then whose is it?" he demanded.

She looked like she might be about to cry, and he yanked the cover open, nearly breaking the spine in the process, hoping whoever she had acquired it from might have written their name on it.

' _To Princess Ada, To fill your head with all my ideals, Love always, your communist frog.'_

He looked back to Rosie.

"You kept this from me?" he said, his heart in his stomach.

He threw the book on the side table, knocking over a framed photo, and turned and strode from the room, throwing open the shop door and shouting, "Ada! Ada get out your fucking bed and get down here right fucking now!"

"Tommy," Rosie said, running through after him and grabbing his arm, "Tommy please, you'll wake up Finn and Lily."

"Frankly right now, I don't fucking care, Rosie," he snarled down at her, then shouted back up the stairs, "Ada! Get down here this fucking minute!"

"Tommy!" Rosie pleaded, coming in front of him and laying her hands on his chest, trying to push him back, "Tommy she's – she's not up there."

He grabbed a hold of her wrists and looked down, repeating it back to her, slowly, "She's not up there?"

Rosie shook her head.

"Then where is she?"

"I- I don't know Tommy," she said, shaking her head again, "I'm sorry – I-"

"You don't know?"

"Tommy – please – sit in the front room and listen to me – please?"

He dropped her wrists and walked through, wordless, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration, his heart not so much racing with individual beats as it was buzzing with pure energy.

She shut the door he had thrown open and came through.

"Sit," he ordered, pointing to the sofa with his eyes.

She obeyed him.

"Talk."

"Tommy – you told me no communists."

He nodded.

"But you didn't tell Ada," she said, biting her lip.

His mouth dropped open, "Are you being fucking serious?"

"Tommy, Ada and I thought it was – well – it doesn't matter what we thought. But we thought you only meant me."

"Why would you think that?" he demanded, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Because you said it to me Tommy," she told him, her eyes wide, "You didn't say it to Ada."

"Well here's the deal – if it's not safe for you it's not safe for any of them," he growled.

"But you didn't say it wasn't safe, you didn't explain it or say why Tommy," she said, "So we just thought – well – it doesn't matter what we thought, it was stupid, I know but-"

"Yeah, it was stupid. You need to trust my judgement and if I judge that you can't handle something, then absolutely none of them are going to be able to handle it."

"Yes Tommy," she whispered.

"Get on with it," he said, pulling out a cigarette to stop himself from grabbing her and shaking her till her teeth rattled.

"Well, Ada has been seeing someone – a communist," she said, shuffling her feet.

"So I gathered," he said.

"I thought – well Tommy I thought it was a good thing at first. You were so worried she was making a fool of herself and I encouraged her. She was running around with different boys every week to parade them in front of him and make him jealous and I thought you'd be more angry if you found that out, so I – Tommy I'm sorry, but I told her to stop that and to just tell him how she felt, I thought it was the right thing to do."

He exhaled a stream of smoke, "And when did you realise it wasn't right?"

She gulped under his gaze and looked to the ground.

"No, look at me – not at the floor, at me," he told her.

She raised her eyes slowly, "Tommy I – I realised when you said at the meeting about that new inspector being here for communists that maybe you hadn't meant just me when you said about not speaking to communists."

"So why didn't you come to me then?" he asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

"I – I thought I'd get both of us into trouble Tommy," she said, "And I know how shit that sounds – I know it does. But it took Ada and I a while to find our – our way of syncing with each other. And I didn't want to ruin that. I thought – Tommy I'm sorry but I thought I could convince her to speak to you herself or to break it off, either way I figured we could avoid – avoid this. I just didn't want to be caught in the middle between you – and – and I'm sorry because I know I should have come to you, but I didn't know – I didn't realise how far she had gone."

"What do you mean how far she had gone?"

His heart was hammering, and he felt sick – he bit down on the cigarette to keep it from sliding from his mouth, to keep from letting his face go slack as it wanted to at the idea of what she could mean.

"Tommy, she's been lying to me too. And I swear I didn't know that until tonight – she said she was going out and I told her she was mad. And she said if she was facing a spanking in the morning she may as well earn it, so she was going. So, I said what if I went to whoever's house it was they were going to tonight and said she was sick and couldn't come – and that way she didn't lose face, but she didn't disobey you either."

"Did you miss everything I said earlier about being where I thought you were at any given time? Did you think just because I try to make sure and treat you differently to Finn and Ada in front of your sister – because I'm trying to ensure we come across as a team with her and I'm not undermining you – do you think that means the rules don't apply to you?" he snapped.

She shifted her hands so that she was sitting on them.

"Oh, I hope your arse is tingling while you sit there," he told her, "It'll be the last time you sit comfortably for a while."

She nodded and bowed her head to the floor again, accepting his judgement without arguing - finally.

"Eyes on me," he reminded her, "So, you figured you were above obeying me too and suggested you'd go out – then what?"

"I figured she was in enough trouble Tommy," she said, her voice betraying her nerves, "But she said she wasn't going to see the girls, she was going to see him – and I couldn't talk her out of it so when she left I went into her room to find that manifesto and I thought I could try and understand it. I thought if I could figure out what you didn't like in it I could use it to make her see sense. I'm sorry, I am - I just didn't know what else to do and you were away out and Polly was away and I felt like I had to do something - anything - just so I wasn't sitting here feeling useless. I thought I'd wait for her to get back then convince her not to do it again and that would be the end of it. I just thought if I could reason with her tonight and you were going to punish her in the morning anyway that it could end after that, without her being in any more trouble than she already was..."

She trailed off, looking up at him. Her thumb went to her mouth and she began to chew on her nail as he held her gaze - a sort of more adult version of the way Lily stuck her fingers in her mouth when she was nervous. God, she was so little. And he was furious, he was, but she'd been trying to help, in her misguided way.

"Has she been seeing him every Saturday that she's said she was seeing her friends?" he asked, not convinced he really wanted to know.

"I don't know Tommy – they have all been staying at each other's a lot recently, that's been happening. But I don't know how often she's gone where she's said she's going and how often she's gone – gone somewhere else. I didn't know she wasn't just going to her friends' houses the entire time, I swear – I just thought she was letting him walk her home after school or whatever."

"Well I can only assume some school-boy who fancies himself a communist has parents, so surely she's been sleeping where I've thought she's been sleeping," he muttered aloud.

Rosie's eyes widened.

"What?"

She shook her head, swallowing.

"Don't make this any worse – what is it?"

"Tommy he's – he's not a school boy."

"Who is he?"

She stared at him for a moment, her mouth opening and closing and no sound emitting.

"Rosie?" he prompted after he had endured it as long as he could.

And then it hit him.

No.

No.

No.

He had been going to kill Freddie Thorne before. Now he was going to tear the fucker limb from limb.

"Rosie," he asked, "Is it who I think it is?"

She opened her mouth again – but whether she had ever been going to find the words to answer him or not, he didn't know, because the door opened at that moment and his sister, wearing the damned coat, appeared in the living room.

She froze when she saw Tommy and her mouth fell open.

"Get in here," he croaked at her, and she came slowly into the room, shutting the front door behind her, though her hand lingered on it, as though she was considering trying to bolt back out it while she could.

He turned to pick up the book, stubbing the cigarette out and clearing his throat.

" _Who_ is your communist frog, Ada?" he asked her quietly, holding up the book

"Tommy – I – have you been in my room?" she asked.

He wanted to throttle her on the spot. She had been told to stay in and she'd gone out – after everything that had happened earlier. She knew he didn't want her near any communists – and he didn't accept that she hadn't thought it had been aimed at her, her refusal to take Rosie's advice of Monday night and speak to him about it proved that – and here she was, sneaking out to see one. And yet, her response was whether or not anyone had been in her room.

"I -" Rosie started to say, but he cut her off with a look.

He glanced between then two of them. Ada was defiant, even now, in her ridiculous coat – and lipstick smeared across her face. Rosie was at least penitent, it seemed. God, he didn't approve of what she had done or the decisions she had made, but at least he understood them. Which was more than he could say for his sister's. 

"Yes, Ada, I was in your room," he told her, feeling Rosie's eyes on him from her place on the sofa, "I came home and stuck my head in to check on you and make sure your fire would last. I do that nearly every damn night Ada, you should know that because you're awake half the time, even when you should be asleep."

He saw Ada sag a little and lower her chin, just slightly. Not entirely though.

"So, imagine my surprise when you weren't there, after I'd told you you were to stay in and that I was going to give you a spanking tomorrow morning for your lying and manipulation and attempt to sneak out behind my back without asking permission."

"Tommy, I-" she started to say.

He shook his head, "No, Ada. See, your partner in crime there tells me I didn't make things clear enough to you that you weren't to go near any communists. When I confronted her with this, asked her what she knew about it – she tells me the two of you thought it was just her that was to be away from them. I'm not sure why you would think that – but you aren't going to say a fucking word right now, I'm going to talk and I'm going to make things crystal fucking clear Ada. When I realised you weren't home, that you'd snuck out anyway, despite _everything_ Ada, despite our entire discussion earlier," he broke off to breathe, rub his hand across his chin and regain his composure, before continuing, "When you weren't there, I went in and got this one out of bed to find out what the fuck was going on. And she didn't know where you'd gone or who you were away to see. So, I went back into your room to see if I could find anything that might give me an idea – and I noticed this. You don't have a lot of books Ada, so it wasn't so hard to notice. Now, the fact Rosie has no clue whose house you were meant to be going to tonight – and since _everyone's_ been going to these weekend gatherings, I figure if there was a gathering at someone's house, she'd know where it was. But she didn't. So, I'm guessing, from that – and from the fact your lipstick is all across your face – you weren't seeing your friends tonight. I'm guessing you were seeing this communist _frog_ of yours."

He stared at her until she nodded, her eyes looking slightly watery.

"Yeah, I thought so," he continued, glaring at her, "So, you've been lying to me for weeks I guess about where you've been going on these Saturday nights? And you lied to me tonight, even when you knew fine well that I was angry – you stood in that kitchen and lied to my face, Ada."

"I'm sorry Tommy," she said, a few tears coming over her eyes.

"Ada are those tears because you're sorry or because you're sorry you got caught?" he asked, not remotely moved by them.

"I'm sorry Tommy, I'm really sorry."

"I fucking hope you are Ada – the lying and the sneaking out is bad enough, but you heard me at that meeting last Saturday and you saw Arthur this morning. This new inspector isn't playing around Ada, he's here because he thinks the communists or the IRA have stolen something. I've been out speaking to Moss, I've been getting the information on this man. You saw what he did to Arthur – that was what he did to get someone to help him, what do you think he'll do to people affiliated with the people he thinks stole the thing he's after? Communists are this government's number one fear right now Ada, Winston fucking Churchill himself sent that copper here, do you understand that? Do you understand how dangerous it is to be near a communist right now? Do you understand how dangerous it is to even have this book in the house? Do you want to live your whole life on the run, never settling anywhere, in one safe house after another – because _that_ is your life if you end up with a communist Ada. No more fancy coats or shoes. None of the things you like in your life, do you understand that? The communists send all their spare cash to their unions and their cause – and you're not cut out for it, Ada. So, I want you to take this fucking book, and throw it in that fire and then I want us to move on and never speak of this again, you hear me?"

"Tommy, Tommy please! No! Please," Ada cried out, shaking her head fervently.

"Ada – what did I just say that wasn't clear? It's not a safe thing to have in the fucking house. If you get associated with communists, your life as you know it is over. If you drag the rest of this family into it by association, it's over for all of us. This copper isn't fucking playing, Ada. You've already dragged her," he gestured to Rosie, who was still on the sofa, still looking up at him, "Into this. I would hope that might make some fucking impact on you. I would hope you're not an entirely self-centred, selfish little hellcat. If you've read this you'll know you _literally_ can't be a communist and be a self-centred, self-serving kind of a person, it doesn't fucking work."

"Tommy, I'm sorry," his sister said, coming around and holding out her hand for the book.

He passed her it, glad she was showing willing, "Into the fire Ada."

"Tommy, please, can I just rip out this page and keep it," she pleaded, opening it to the inscription.

"Rip it out Ada," he told her, his face hard.

She did so, looking at him, clearly not trusting that he was letting her rip it for her own purposes. He let her hold it for a second, waited till she started drawing it back, about to put it in her pocket-

"You can get that page in the fire first Ada," he told her.

"Tommy – Tommy no, please," she began to beg, her voice breaking as she started crying.

"In the fire. And into the fire with him too – you're not to see him again, do you understand?"

"Tommy please – please, I love him."

"Who is he Ada? What's his name?"

"Tommy…"

"I know who it is Ada, I've guessed alright. I just want to hear it from you."

"Freddie," she choked out, wiping her nose on her sleeve, "Freddie Thorne."

"Uhuh," he said, "And you tell me what you love about Freddie, Ada. Anything at all that you love about him that isn't the fact you know I don't want you anywhere near him."

"Tommy he's – he's kind – and he's, he's fun and exciting."

Tommy nodded, "That's good Ada. Now get it in the fire."

"Tommy – Tommy please!"

"Ada – if that's what you love about him then I have good news for you – there are a lot of men in this world kinder and more fun and more exciting than Freddie Thorne, he was my best friend for years, so I can vouch to it pretty well. And there's a lot of those men won't be dragging you through the safe houses and slums that the Bolsheviks deem acceptable to stay in while they send all their money to Russia."

She didn't move, so he snatched the paper from her and ripped it in half, then in half again, causing her to cry out before he tossed the bits into the flames. She cried freely then, but when he looked pointedly at the book still in her hand, missing only the inscription, she threw the rest of it in without hesitating.

He was still furious, but he was relieved, slightly. She didn't care about communism. Hell, he'd be surprised if she had even read the damn thing. All she had wanted was that page he had addressed to her, the page that summed up just how exciting and fun Freddie Thorne was. The fucking irony of it – _Princess Ada_. As if a communist and a princess would ever work.

And maybe that was it. He'd signed it as a frog. Did he think by kissing her, by entrapping his sister, he would get access to them, to him? Did he think that was his way back into the workings of Thomas' life? Access to guns and ammunition – so he could pass them on to his fucking comrades for their revolution?

God, he was furious with his sister. But he knew his sister – she wanted her life to be exciting and grand, like something out of a film. And Freddie was providing that for her – seducing her with it. His sister was young, naive. Freddie, the fucker, had taken advantage of her. Had decided she was the weakest link in the Shelby chain, the one he'd pull at to get himself involved.

Tommy raked his eyes over Ada, her face swollen and puffy already from crying, her lipstick still a mess. She looked so ridiculous now, her make up gone awry – she just looked like his baby sister, dressed up in a woman's coat and shoes.

He was so angry with her, angrier than he had ever been. And he was scared by what she'd nearly got herself entangled in. He just wanted her to be safe. He wanted them all to be safe. But they didn't fucking listen. She didn't fucking listen, because safe wasn't exciting. Safe wasn't fun. And if he couldn't make safe seductive enough to compete, he just had to make the consequences of giving in to what she did find seductive too severe for her to ever contemplate giving in to it again.

"Ada," he said, "You will not put yourself in danger again, do you understand me? You will not put this family in danger again, are we clear?"

She nodded.

"Words, Ada," he demanded.

"I - I under-understand, Tommy," she said, still quivering from her tears.

"You are in for the hiding of your life, Ada," he pronounced, keeping his voice quiet, "I just pray it's enough to keep you from doing anything as fucking stupid as this ever again. You will never lie to me again Ada, you will never keep anything from me, are we clear? No matter how much trouble you – or you," he said, raising his voice to address Rosie, to ensure she knew she was included, "Think you've got yourselves into, the consequences of keeping it from me will be worse than any trouble you'd have been in originally, got it?"

They both nodded, he surveyed them for a minute.

"Right Ada, let's get this done – I don't want to get Lily or Finn upset at this fucking time of night, so go through to my office, here's the key," he said, pulling the bundle from his pocket and picking out the right one, "Take that bloody coat off and put it somewhere then get your nose in the corner and I'll be through."

"Tommy, couldn't – couldn't this wait till the morning," Rosie asked in a small voice, looking up at him.

"You are _honestly-fucking-daring_ to question me right now?" he asked, raising an eyebrow at her, "This is getting done now for your benefit, so that once I'm done with my sister, you and I can have a discussion about how we're going to settle your deceit. And I want to get that done tonight because I don't want your sister overhearing anything about it tomorrow morning. I promised not to undermine you in front of her, so I won't. I will keep _every_ promise I give you, no matter what you do. But that does not mean you are forgiven yet, do you understand me?"

She dropped her eyes and nodded.

"Tommy," Ada spoke up, "It wasn't her fault – she tried to get me to tell you, she tried to stop me going out. I swore if I got caught it would be me who got in trouble and not her."

He clicked his tongue and nodded, "I'm proud of you for telling me that Ada," he told her, "But maybe this will be a lesson to you in not swearing to things you can't control. You didn't plan to get caught for a start – but you should have known you would have. I told you earlier I knew there was a boy somewhere in the scene. Christ knows I didn't imagine this, but I knew something was going on – I was always going to find out. So, you should have known that. And you should have had the sense to know when I found out, you weren't going to be able to dictate how it happened. So why you thought you could swear to anyone that you'd keep them out of it, I don't know. Just another stupid thought of yours I suppose. But you're going to learn to use your brain and to think, Ada. Do you hear me? Corner – now!"

"Tommy, I'm sorry - I don't want to go in the corner like a child," Ada whispered, shaking her head and letting her hands drift to her backside.

"Ada, your choices here are in the corner of my office or in the corner of the kitchen – I suggested my office first because this one," he nodded to Rosie, "Is going to sit in here until I'm done with you. I figured my office gave you a bit more privacy. But if you'd rather we did this in the kitchen while she sits here and hears it all, you be my guest. But whether it's the kitchen or the office is the only thing you have any say in right now – and I suggest you move yourself before I make the decision for you."

Ada left the room without any more words, only shooting Rosie a look of what seemed like sincere commiserations.

Neither of them said anything until the shop door closed behind Ada.

"Why did you do that Tommy?" she asked.

He let her stew for a bit, pacing up and down the small room, feeling caged. 

"I'm angry with you for not coming to me sooner," he said eventually, meeting her eyes, "But I understand that you didn't want to risk your relationship with Ada."

She nodded.

"But if you have concerns Rosie, if its about Ada or Finn – or even Lily if you can't handle it yourself – I need to know. And even where Lily is concerned, if you can handle it yourself, I'd prefer you let me know. Because I want to be there to support you with her. But, as far as my sister and brother are concerned - where I can I will deal with it as discreetly as possible and I will keep you out of it," he continued, "But don't keep me in the dark when you know things aren't right. I'm not asking you to come to me every time Ada tells a lie or Finn swears or steals a cigarette from Ada's bloody secret stash. But I need to keep you all safe. And you are clever enough to know when that's threatened. I trust you – and I don't trust many people Rosie-"

"You still trust me?" she asked.

He nodded, speaking slowly, "I think you made some silly decisions about what you prioritised. But I understand why you made them, which is why I'm promising you here and now that if you come to me and you want it kept in confidence, I will keep it in confidence. I've told you before – I don't go around telling people thing. But you will repay my trust by trusting me, we clear? It's not your job to keep Ada or Finn safe, that's not why I brought you here. So, don't take that on yourself, don't take that into your head and worry about it – come to me, let me deal with it. I chose them. It's my job."

She nodded, "Alright."

They looked at each other a while longer – and he wanted to touch her, to pat her head or just _something_ , anything, to offer her the reassurance her eyes told him she needed, even if she wouldn't verbalise it. But he couldn't bring himself to do it. He wanted to forgive her. And he had told her the truth, he did understand why she had done it – he wouldn't have lied for her otherwise. But whatever the reasons were, he still felt she had betrayed him, he still felt angry with her.

"I'm going to deal with my sister – wait here; I'll come back through when that's done and we'll figure out how we settle this between us," he told her eventually.

She nodded, chewing her lip and sliding her hands back under her backside as she sat on the sofa.

He picked up the clothes brush from the side table. He'd been naive enough to think the last time he'd used it on his sister would be the first and last time. But this time, this would be the last bloody time. He'd make sure of it.


	36. Chapter 36

Tommy went through to the kitchen, leaving Rosie to her own thoughts – whatever the hell they were. She seemed to accept she had been in the wrong. Though she'd been determined to explain what had happened – and offered him the explanation and her reasoning in full – there was a shift in her demeanour that let him know she knew she'd crossed the line. She hadn't argued with him, had accepted that she was to wait for him. The only sign of slight opposition to him had been when she had asked if they could deal with it in the morning – and he suspected it was because she thought he might be calmer by then and had asked more for Ada's sake than her own.

She was such an intriguing little thing – so quiet, so disinterested in being the centre of attention and yet there was a spark and a steel core in her, a fierceness that her outer reticence camouflaged. He might have expected to meet that spark tonight – heaven knew when Ada, or even John or Arthur, were confronted with anything they tended to get defensive and angry. Not her though. She had just wanted him to listen and to understand why she had done it. And she'd apologised, multiple times, as she told him why. And then she'd lowered her eyes and bowed her head and accepted it when he'd said she wouldn't sit comfortably for a while.

But her worry for Ada had been unfounded - he was calm enough – in control enough – to trust himself to deal with it then and there. He put the brush on the table and picked up a mug from by the sink – heading out the back and filling it a few times over before wiping the back of his mouth on his suit jacket and heading back in, taking the jacket off and slinging it over the back of one of the kitchen chairs, rolling up his sleeves and picking up the brush.

He had been angry earlier, angry enough he might not have trusted himself. But that anger had given way to a need to get Ada back in line, a firm belief that he had to get through to her for her own bloody good. He wasn't going to fail her. He'd chosen her. He'd chosen this job. He'd chosen to keep her safe and by god he would do it. He would make sure she didn't go near any communists ever again.

He opened the door that connected the kitchen to the shop. His sister had put her coat on the bannister of the stairs and he could see she was in his office, leaning against one of the makeshift walls and facing into a corner. It wasn't exactly standing in the corner like he'd told her, but it was close enough and he wasn't going to go to battle with her on that.

He crossed over and opened the door of his office. She looked over her shoulder, chewing the inside of her mouth as she glanced down at the brush in his hand, then looking back up to meet his eyes. He pulled the door shut behind him and came into the little room slowly, letting her watch him as he put the brush on the desk and pulled the chair out from under it, bringing it round and setting it down in the centre of the small room, making sure there was enough space she wouldn't risk smacking herself off the desk if she wriggled. And he knew she'd wriggle. Then he changed his mind and spun it, so it faced the desk.

"Sit, Ada," he ordered, eying the chair.

She clearly wasn't expecting that, and she eyed him warily as she complied.

He stood against the desk.

"I don't want to drag this out, but can you tell me why? Why the lying, why the sneaking out?"

"Because – because I know you and Freddie aren't friends anymore. I knew you'd try and stop me if you found out, Tommy," she said nervously.

He nodded.

"Why did you think I'd stop you?"

"Because you don't like Freddie."

"Why don't I like Freddie?"

"I don't know Tommy – even Freddie doesn't know what happened. He says you came back and got involved with the business and then you just stopped talking to him," she pleaded, her eyes wet.

He nodded again, turning it over. He didn't actually dislike Freddie, that wasn't the case. Or it hadn't been. It was just that Freddie had gotten too involved with the communist cause, and he could see the danger there was in that – he wouldn't bring it down on his family, so he'd cut ties.

Now he'd seen Freddie try and take advantage of Ada, it was a different story. Now he wanted to kill the fucker.

"You were mistaken Ada," he told her, "I didn't dislike Freddie. I do now, now that he's tried to take advantage of you. But I didn't dislike him before – I just didn't want his politics anywhere near us, anywhere near you or Finn or the family, because they're dangerous, do you understand?"

"Yes Tommy. But Freddie didn't take advantage of me Tommy – I love him," she protested, though weakly.

"You might think you love him Ada, but you don't. I promise you one day you will love someone, properly, who will love you back and it'll all be for the right reasons – but Freddie isn't that person."

"How would you know Tommy?" she asked, her voice barely audible and unable to look in his eyes, but jutting her chin out – just slightly - nonetheless.

He shook his head, "Ada – you're young. Just trust me."

"Freddie's the same age as you and he says he loves me! He believes it's love."

"Freddie will say anything to get what he wants!" Tommy snapped, hardening his face as he looked down at her, "I know Freddie Thorne pretty fucking well Ada. He's bad news for you. You stay away from him; do you hear me?"

She bit her lip and nodded.

"Words, Ada."

"Yes, Tommy," she muttered, her eyes on the floor.

"Look at me."

She took a breath and met his eyes.

"I'm going to give you a damn good reason to stay away from him, Ada," he said, aware that he sounded a bit too much like Polly for his own comfort, "And I need it to work. Do you understand? I need you safe – and being with a man like Freddie is not safe."

She looked like she wanted to say something, but she didn't.

"Right," he said, when he realised she was going to hold her tongue – and he simultaneously wanted to know what was going on in her head and yet was glad she could school herself to when it counted – "On your feet."

He turned the chair back around, moving it another foot or so away from the desk and sat down.

"Over my lap."

"Tommy – Tommy please – I'll be good – I swear, I don't need this," she whined, stepping back and away from him.

"Seriously Ada? You want to try and argue with me right now?" he frowned.

He stood and grabbed her arm, pulling her back the few steps she had taken, sat down and yanked her across.

"Tommy! Tommy I'm sorry, please, I'm sorry," she garbled as he shifted her further over from where she'd tumbled at his pull.

"I hope you are Ada – but if you're not, you will be by the end of this," he assured both himself and her, "No more lying, no more sneaking about, no more going anywhere without asking permission – and you will _never_ try and manipulate your aunt or I again."

And then he raised his hand and brought it down, hard, on his sister's upturned rear end.

He usually tried to start a proper spanking with some lighter smacks to settle the miscreant down, but not this time – he went hard from the outset. He'd never needed to teach a lesson as serious as this one and so he'd never spanked as seriously as he did now, bringing his hand down over and over, a constant onslaught to Ada's backside, not pausing for a second, not easing up.

She wriggled and kicked, as he knew she would – Ada always did, always had done. And he'd thought, from a young age, that she did it to try and gain sympathy, laying her reaction on thick – but he was fairly sure this was genuine.

"Tommy," she choked out not long after he had started, "Tommy no! No more, please – I'm sorry, I'm really sorry!"

"Good," he replied, halting for a minute to clench and flex his hand, "If you're sorry you'll know you've done wrong and need to be punished. To put your mind at rest, we've only just started Ada, you'll get what you've earned - and you won't ever think about trying to lie to me or go behind my back again."

"Tommy – Tommy I promise I won't, please," she said, squirming.

He reached down to lift the hem of her dress, pulling it up and she ground herself down and forward, trying to prevent him from turning it up to her waist, where she knew it was headed.

He tightened his left hand's hold on her to ensure she wouldn't wriggle to a point of hurting herself and let go of the hem, letting it lie where he had gotten the dress to, at her mid-thigh, bringing his hand down on her exposed legs instead.

"Ada, you just told me you were sorry - are you sorry for lying to me? For putting yourself in danger by sneaking around and concealing your whereabouts from me? Are you sorry for trying to manipulate your Aunt Polly and I?"

"Yes, yes – Tommy I'm really sorry, I'm sorry for everything, I promise, I learned my lesson, I won't do it again."

"Good, so like I just said, if you're sorry you'll know you've earned this, and you'll comply with getting what you deserve – so lift up."

"Tommy, Tommy no!"

He smacked her exposed legs again and she shrieked, "Tommy – I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

She didn't lift up exactly, but she stopped pushing down and he was able to get the dress – and the pink slip she was wearing underneath it – out of his way and get on with making his point. He could see how red she was across the tops of her legs already, but he had no intentions of letting up for a minute on her. He needed her to learn – and to remember learning, to keep it etched in her mind every time she even considered lying to him or making plans without consulting him.

She kicked more violently now, and her hand flew behind her across her bottom, in an attempt to stop him, so he smacked her thighs then took her hand and folded it up into her lower back, tucking the fabric of her dress under her own hand and pinning it in under his left arm, keeping it out his way.

He was gratified to hear a chorus of the phrases "Tommy, I'm sorry," "I promise I'm sorry, I'll never lie again," "I won't do any of it again Tommy, please," "I'm so sorry, please," sound on rotation from the upturned teenager and she seemed so consumed in her own misery that he didn't think she even noticed when he unbuttoned her underwear and pushed it to her knees – though she kicked it off quickly enough.

He was breathing heavily with exertion and his hand was bright red and itchy with its own sting by the time he stopped – and Ada lay sobbing for a while before she seemed to realise he had stopped.

"Why are we going through this Ada?" he asked, when he had rested enough and she had calmed enough to talk.

"Because I lied to you and I went behind your back and I tried to manipulate you and Aunt Polly and because Freddie's a communist," she answered, her words tumbling out.

"Right on all but one – this spanking is not because Freddie's a communist – we'll be dealing with that issue separately," he told her, "But the first three were right. Now, do you remember the last spanking I gave you Ada? In the kitchen the day Rosie and Lily came here?"

"Yes Tommy."

"I told you then that I never wanted to go through this with you again, didn't I?"

"Yes Tommy."

"That spanking was about your attitude – but obviously it wasn't enough because it's that attitude that's made you bold enough to think you can treat me and your aunt like shit Ada."

"I didn't mean to Tommy, I don't think I can treat you like shit," she said, shaking her head.

"Then what do you call lying to me, going behind my back to sneak out, thinking you can make plans without asking me and thinking me and Aunt Pol can be used as you, as a little girl, sees fit?"

"Tommy, I'm sorry," she said, starting to cry again, "I didn't – I didn't mean to – I just wanted to see Freddie."

"You didn't mean to continually lie to me for months and to make a plan for your aunt to be in the house tonight to watch Finn and Lily rather than just ask me?"

"I'm sorry Tommy, I wasn't thinking about it like that," she said.

He was fairly sure he believed her, that she wasn't thinking, but that really didn't make it any better.

"Ada – there is too much going on in this world for you to be wandering through it not thinking about what you're doing and whether it's sensible or safe. Especially now because of the new inspector, but regardless of him Ada – this world is not a kind one. I am trying to keep you safe in it, but I can't do that when you disobey me and conceal things from me."

"I know, I'm sorry Tommy, I'm really sorry."

"Good," he said, releasing his left hand's hold on her and freeing her own hand, squeezing it before he straightened out her elbow and let it fall down to be in front of her again, "Up you get Ada."

She stood slowly, her hands immediately going to her backside as soon as she was on her feet, rubbing at it like her life depended on it.

"Fetch me the brush from the desk," he said, resigned.

"Tommy! Tommy no – please – I've learned my lesson – I'll never lie to you again!"

"No, you won't," he said, raising an eyebrow, knowing it wasn't strictly the truth, but hoping the promise would hold true at least for the big things in life, "And you'll fetch that brush and bring it to me, then get back over my lap so we can finish this."

"Tommy!"

"Ada – if you want me to believe you've learned your lesson, don't give me any defiance right now," he snapped.

She twisted on the spot, though what she was looking for he didn't quite know – maybe a hole in the ground to appear that she could jump into, as if he wouldn't just drag her back out of it - then she let out a moan and went to the desk, picking up the brush and returning with it, holding it out to him.

He took it from her and motioned her back over with it.

"Tommy – Tommy please," she said, both her hands holding her backside as though she thought it would fall off.

Clearly some part of her hoped if she obeyed him he wouldn't go through with it.

"Ada, back over," he said, keeping his voice calm.

She draped herself clumsily and shakily over him, sniffing, and he pulled her dress back up and shifted her further over, lifting her sit spots higher – then he began to light up her rear end with the black wood.

He had gone side to side the last time he'd used the brush – the only time he'd used it – and he had seen Polly wielding her brush enough to know that was her method too. But there was one spanking his mother had given him that stood out in his memory as being a thorough roasting, and it was the time she had used her hairbrush on him but picked a spot and hammered into it with no rest, then moved to another spot and repeated. And that was what he did now, laying the brush down five times on her right sit spot, then moving below to the top of her right thigh, then back to the spot.

Just as he moved to the undercurve of her right cheek and began, she shrieked out, "Tommy – Tommy that was fifteen! That was fifteen with the brush! Tommy – no more – please no more!"

"Did I say you were only getting fifteen with this?" he asked.

"No but…" she trailed off.

"But what?"

"The last time I got fourteen with it," she cried out.

"And the last time clearly wasn't thorough enough," he replied, then returned to the undercurve and started drumming the back of the brush down on her again.

She kicked hard now, squealing at the top of her lungs, so he shifted her forward over his left knee, pinning her legs down with his right, before repeating the pattern on her left sit spot and thigh.

Once he was done he laid some final swats down in his usual side to side pattern - but moving much more quickly than normal so that there was no breathing room. She had stopped kicking or fighting by this point, merely lying still and crying.

"Right Ada, that was for the lying, for the sneaking out, for the manipulation."

She didn't answer, but he saw her nod her head.

"Up you get," he said, helping her, but grabbing the back of the neck of her dress so she wouldn't think they were done.

"Now," he said to her ear, "You and Rosie want to tell me this absurd story about how you thought it was only her that wasn't go near communists – and you expect me to believe that?"

"But Tommy," Ada cried softly now, as though her body was so done it didn't have the energy for the emphatic sobs of earlier , "You did only say it to her, you - you got all close to her face and spoke to her."

"Why would you think if I'm saying it to her it didn't apply to you?"

"Tommy – because - because you love her," Ada said, moving her hand to cover her backside as though she feared a further onslaught at this, "We thought you were jealous of the idea of her with anyone. We didn't realise it was about communists – we just thought you got mad when she mentioned Freddie. You – you asked her how she knew him and she said from around and you were doing that thing were you were gripping her face and speaking all low and angry and I – I _tried_ to say to you she knew him through me but you gave me one of those looks that means you want me to shut up, so I did. But Tommy – we – we thought you were just jealous that she knew Freddie, because of what Aunt Polly said in the tea leaves about red right hands before she'd get a wedding dress."

He couldn't remember his sister saying anything, he could only remember hearing Rosie mention Freddie's name and bursting in on her to tell her to stay away from him.

"You thought I was jealous because you think I love her?" he said.

"You do Tommy – everyone says so – Aunt Polly, and Arthur and John – even Finn has figured out that there's something between you. Lily's the only one who doesn't think so because she doesn't know what you were like before. Even George and Isiah, they think she lives here because she's your girl, John had to tell them not to say that."

"Right," he said, nodding and processing her words.

Whatever he'd expected, it wasn't this. Not from Ada. Although – he knew Arthur and John knew, and he knew Polly knew too. But they weren't going to say it to him, not after the way he'd reacted before, when he'd left over a joke John had made.

"Right Ada," he said, gathering himself, "I'll accept that that's true – or that you think that's true, about why the communist rule wasn't for you, though it's a bloody far-fetched thing to ask me to believe. But you were in that meeting last Saturday when I said that new copper was here to clean up the city, that he was here for communists – why didn't you use your brain then to figure it out?"

"Tommy – I'm sorry," she replied, shaking her head, "I liked him, I didn't want to stop."

Well, at least that was probably the truth, as basic and ugly and stupid as it was.

"But you're going to stop – it's stopped from tonight Ada," he said, shaking her.

"Yes, Tommy I promise!" she said, almost falling from the shaking.

Her body was limp and weak, he had wrung her out exactly as he had planned to. And still, still his mind whispered to him that it wouldn't be enough, that he hadn't done enough yet. Still his mind flashed images of her and Freddie running. And kissing. And...

"Right – that's good, but I'm going to give you a damn good reason to make sure it's stopped, Ada," he told her, then put his arm around her waist and manoeuvred her out of his office and back into the kitchen.

"Tommy no, no more, please not that," she pleaded, twisting in his hold when she realised what he was doing.

"Communists treat men and woman as equal Ada," he said, keeping his arm on her waist and taking the razor strop down with the other hand, "So you can go out the back and think about this any time you feel tempted to go near a communist."

She didn't seem to have any energy left to fight him, she just sagged in his hold and let him half carry her out.

"Same as me and Arthur and John got, same as Finn gets, Ada. Cause that's what communisms all about – everyone equal, no distinctions," he told her, releasing her and pushing her towards the wall, "Hands on the wall Ada, I know you've seen Finn – and even John - get it enough times to know what to do."

"Tommy, Tommy please," she said, her knees knocking as she looked at the strap in his hand.

"Ada – this can go one of two ways – you can put your hands on that wall, or I can knock you to the ground and put a knee in your back to hold you there, our Dad did that to me plenty when I fought him on being out here, and I can tell you it's a bit more dignified to just bend over and get your hands on the wall."

It was more dignified, but half the time he'd ended up wrestled down and pinned by their father because it was just the sheer principal of the thing that wouldn't let him submit to their father's judgements of him. She didn't need to know that though.

She gave a sniff and wiped her nose on the back of her hand, tears streaming down her face as she gave him one last baleful look then turned and slowly stretched out her hands, doing what he'd told her to do, looking as though her legs might give way at any point.

He forced himself to wait till she was in position, though he could tell there was no way she'd have held it for very long, before grabbing the neck of her dress again and pulling her up, wrapping an arm back around her waist.

"Into the house Ada," he said, taking most of her weight again as she slumped against him, walking her slowly back in and stopping at the door to hang the bloody strap back up.

He wrapped an arm over her chest, pinning her arms to her sides, keeping her body pressed against his and moved the hand that had been on her waist to grab the back of her head and tilt it up, forcing it to look at the razor strop on the nail.

"You take a good look at that Ada, you've never had that in your life – because I have _never_ been able to bring myself to use that on you," he said, fighting to keep his voice steady, "Every time I look at you Ada, no matter how much fucking lipstick you're wearing or what you've done with your hair, I see my baby sister. Do you realise that? I meant what I said earlier - I chose you and Finn. You could have gone to the parish, or to Aunt Polly. But I wanted you here with me. From the fucking moment you were born – I was sitting in this kitchen when you arrived Ada, and our Dad wasn't fucking here – it was just me and Mum and Aunt Polly in the house; Arthur and John were away out somewhere and I was sitting in here alone waiting on you."

He released her head and wrapped her arm over her so he held her completely, "And I heard you crying and Aunt Pol appeared and said that was you here and she reckoned by sticking around I had volunteered myself as being the man in your life – she probably meant it as barb against our Dad more than anything else, you know Polly, but I took it seriously - and I have taken that seriously every minute since then, Ada. I want to protect you from everything, but I can't do that if you don't work with me. And I want you to be happy – and I know you think I'm breaking your heart by telling you to get rid of Freddie – but you will never be happy with the life he can offer you Ada."

"I love him though Tom, I do," she croaked, barely audible.

He squeezed her against him and kissed her hair, "I know you think you do Ada. I took you out there to give you a fright – and I saw you trembling, and you have no idea how much that hurt my heart. You'll probably never have any idea until you have kids of your own and even then I pray to god you have a husband who'll take the worst of it off your hands – because no matter how fucking well deserved a hiding is Ada, and you've had some pretty well deserved ones in your time, it's fucking hard to deliver. But I was never going to whip you with that thing - all I wanted was to give you a fright and hope it would wake you up. I need you to remember how you felt out there, Ada.

"Because if you go down the route of the communists there is more to fear than a fucking strap. They've got surveillance on communists, Ada – lists of names. The government wants them stamped out. They want to find communists guilty of crimes they can hang them for. They want them out of the game before they can contribute to this revolution – and if they can prove anyone's linked to anything, they'll charge them with treason. And if they can't hang you but they can get you in jail, they'll put you in with officers who hate communists, they'll put you in places that aren't fit for rats Ada, they'll let you die and it'll just be a slower and longer process that way.

"I looked at death every day in that fucking war Ada, to a point I almost got immune to it. But the idea of you mounting the steps of a gibbet? I can't fucking consider that. I love you Ada, I would move heaven and hell for you - believe me I would. If it came to it I'd offer to take your fucking place if I thought it would work, but there are things I can't protect you from. There are places the Peaky fucking Blinders can't reach. If you get caught up in something and your name ends up on a list just because you think you loved someone who believed in their ideals - if they can connect you somehow to anything – and they're looking to connect the people whose names come up… If that happens Ada, that's not something I can buy Moss off over. Do you realise that? If I can't give you a big enough fucking fright here and now to get you back in line Ada, I don't know what I'll do. Because I can't see that become your life, I just can't."

He was crying a bit too by now, his tears falling into her hair as he pressed his face down against the back of her head. He felt her twisting against his arms and loosened his grip slightly, so she could face into his chest, holding her as she cried into him and wound her hands around him.

He didn't know how long they stayed like that for, but eventually she seemed to take a little of her own weight back to her own feet.

"I'm really sorry Tommy," she croaked, "I didn't know – I didn't know about the communist thing."

"I know," he said, not letting her go, "I know you didn't, Ada. I didn't tell you, because I don't want to tell you things like that. I don't want to scare you. But that is why I need you to obey me and to trust my judgement on these things. I will always want to shield you when I can, so you can go on with your dresses and your lipstick and your picture shows. I don't want your life to become ugly, Ada. I want your life to be – to be beautiful and wonderful and all the things you want it to be, eh? But I need the truth from you Ada, even if – especially if – you don't think I'll like it. I need to know where you are and who you're with, do you understand?"

"Yes Tommy – I understand, I promise."

"Alright, go to bed," he said, stroking her hair.

"Tommy, Rosie told me to talk to you – please don't – not because of me."

"You let me and Rosie worry about what's going to happen between us, it's none of your concern."

"Tommy, she told me you said you'd spank her if you thought she was keeping things from you."

"Ada," he warned with a growl, "I'm not discussing what goes on between me and Rosie with you – don't ask me again. It's between us."

"Sorry," she muttered.

"Do you want me to walk you up to bed?"

She shook her head, but her hand fidgeted nervously, telling him the opposite might be closer to the truth.

"Alright, you head up, I'm going to get you some water so you can have a drink and wash your face and I'll bring it up and make sure your fire is alright."

He figured she could loiter if she wanted, which she did as he filled up a mug and a bowl for her, then he sat on her bed until she fell asleep, like he had done when she was younger – before sticking his head in to check that neither Lily nor Finn had been disturbed. Neither of them seemed to have been, but he took a minute to sit on each of their beds and run his hands over their sleeping heads, adjusting the covers and stoking their fires.

He got a sense of surreal peace - even with what he had just watched happen in his head as he spoke to Ada, even having just imagined what she would face if he failed to get her in line - he still felt it, watching them sleep. They were so small and peaceful in themselves – and Lily in particular… All he could think about was the fact she said she loved him. With her blonde hair free of its usual plaits and bands, spread across the pillow, she truly looked like an angel. It was ironic that something that looked so directly sent from heaven had come to him. But she had done, and she loved him. It gave him a sense that he must have, at some point in his life so far, done something good, to have been given the chance to love her and to have her love him in return.

Finn was asleep on his stomach, unsurprisingly, and Tommy half thought about trying to take a look at what damage Polly's hairbrush had inflicted on him, but he figured he'd be likely to wake the boy up if he tried to undress him. He'd speak to Finn in the morning. He didn't know what to do with the kid, but he needed to do _something_. He could just see it if he didn't – in ten years' time Finn would hate him, he'd be running wild and when Tommy would question him he would glare at him and demand to know, "What am I Tom, huh? I'm the brother you never got round to," because he'd feel like Tommy had abandoned him. Too scared of doing the wrong thing that he hadn't done anything.

He'd speak to Rosie. Once this was done and behind them. She would know what to do. Alright, maybe not so much with Ada – but he supposed she saw a lot of herself and her own desires in Ada. And that probably clouded her judgement. But she was good with the kids. She'd be able to tell him what to do. And by the time Lily was fifteen, Rosie wouldn't be so close to it anymore, and she'd know how to handle Lily just fine by then – he was sure of it. She was capable, more than capable. He trusted her. He was still angry with her, and he was fairly sure she was angry with herself too. But he still trusted her.

He wasn't the most forgiving of men. He knew if someone else had betrayed him he'd had held it against them – but she had softened him slightly. Softened him enough that he would forgive her. And that he still trusted her - and valued her input.

He went back outside, filling more mugs with water before, with one mug in each hand, heading through to the front room where Rosie was still obediently waiting on him.


	37. Chapter 37

Rosie hadn't moved from the sofa, but she had drawn her legs up to her and crossed her arms over them, her head laying on her knees, her face turning to him as he came through the door.

Tommy held out one of the mugs, which she took without saying anything and put down without drinking. He stood awkwardly holding his own, then likewise put it down, on the same table he had earlier thrown the copy of the manifesto. He picked up the picture of him, Arthur and John that he had managed to knock over with the bloody book, righting it back to its usual place. The thought came to him that they should get some new pictures taken, with Rosie and Lily in them, though he could well imagine the older sister would not care in the slightest for the idea of having her picture taken.

He turned around and shoved his hands in his pockets, meeting her eyes. He was nervous, though he didn't entirely understand why. He entirely thought she deserved a damn good spanking – and from her own attitude, he figured she thought she did too. But her reasons had been pure enough, if misguided and prioritised incorrectly. And he didn't really want to put her over his knee, not like this.

For something more minor? He quite fancied the idea of her wriggling across his knee and promising to be a good girl. Then, afterwards, he could take her on his knee and rub her bottom and kiss it all better once he knew she'd learned her lesson. And he could well remember the heat of her when he'd held her against him after the swats he'd given her when she'd been being a saucy brat with him.

But he hadn't envisioned her keeping something from him, something of this magnitude. And he needed it never to happen again. But he was also fairly sure it would never happen again. He could tell she was wracked with guilt over it and that she was genuinely sorry. So maybe he didn't need to spank her? But there was something between them now, a resentment on his part that meant he didn't quite know how to settle otherwise.

He didn't know what she saw in his own eyes, or whether she had overheard what he'd said to Ada, but after they'd looked at each other for a moment, she got to her feet and put her arms around him, reaching up to run her fingers over the back of his head, pulling him into her. He was shocked at first as she held him – he hadn't expected it. And yet it felt good to bury his face into the side of her curly head. Slowly, he removed his hands from his pockets and put them around her back, allowing himself to lean on her for a moment as Ada had leant on him.

"Sit down for a minute," she murmured, pressing her lips to the side of his head.

He figured if he was going to go through with it he'd be sitting anyway – and for more than a minute, so he did as she suggested. She moved with him and once he had sat on the couch she stood before him, cradling his head against her stomach. He rested it there, his hands going to her waist, then he let out a strange, guttural moan and slid his hands around her back and just hung on, like he might float off of the couch and out of the house and off of the whole damn earth if he didn't hold her. Sometimes, it had got like this. In the war, it had got like this – there were moments where it felt like he could leave if he wanted to, like he could float away and his body would stay and go through the motions of living, but _he_ could leave – and no one would know. He had done it a few times, in the fighting. He had let his mind stay for that soldier's minute, and formulate a plan and then he had floated off and let his body move of its own accord, enacting what his mind had planned to, but his mind, he, was somewhere in the air, watching it happen. But he didn't want that to happen now. He didn't want to watch himself embrace her, he wanted to stay with her, to hold her, for her to hold him to her, to hold him to himself by doing so.

He wanted to feel it. To feel her. To feel his own mortality through hers.

It had used to be a blessing, the idea of floating out of his body and watching it all unfold, happening but not happening to him. And now it scared him. He didn't want to go anywhere. He wanted to stay here. To stay with her.

She was stroking his head, her fingers caressing the shorter strands of his hair, rubbing just behind his ears, running through the long strands on the top. He nestled into her and she let him, not pushing him to speak, or demanding any answers or thoughts from him. Just letting him breathe and hold her. He didn't want to lose her - ever.

They stayed like that for a while, she didn't move until he unclasped his hold on her and sat back. Then he stood up and pushed by her, not looking at her, torn. He went back to the table, reaching for the mug he had put down, desperate for something to do, something that would make him busy enough to excuse him from confronting her. She stayed in the spot in front of the sofa, her head bowed, her eyes still on the spot where he had been, not looking over at him.

He faced the fire and downed the water, feeling her presence but not looking at her. He couldn't go through with this.

"Go to bed," he told her, not turning around.

"What?"

Her voice was quiet, respectful, but her disbelief was evident.

He turned his head to look at her, keeping his body turned away and repeated, "Go to bed."

"Tommy," she said, her voice cracking a little - whether from a dry throat and it not being used whilst he'd been through with Ada or from emotion he couldn't tell. She was shaking her head, "Tommy no – you said – you said we had to settle this."

He nodded, "I know why you did it – and you won't do it again, will you?"

"No, I'll come to you with everything Tommy," she told him, biting her lip and wrapping her arms around herself.

"Good, so we'll consider it done then," he said, turning his gaze back to the wall.

"Tommy, no! It's not done – you know it and I know it!" she replied, her voice suddenly impassioned.

He felt her approach him and she forced herself into the space in front of him, between him and the table, making him - forcing him to - look at her.

"Tommy," she implored, placing a hand on his face, "Please. Don't send me away like this. Please. Make this right between us."

He lifted his hand to cover hers, looking into her eyes – full of worry and pain and sorrow. And his resentment dissolved, as easily as that. Before the war, resentment hadn't been something he held with most people. He supposed he'd been easier to know then. But she had come after the war, and had made him feel easy - or easier - to know. She had come after the war, when his heart pumped resentment for everything and everyone through his body the same way it pumped his blood. And yet, he could feel the resentment that had been there slipping away as if it were only surface deep, not imbued into him as he had taken it that it would always permanently be. 

But the divide was still there. Because his resentment had gone. But her guilt still hadn't.

He was going to have to go through with this – and there would be no could or couldn't about it, it had to happen. She wanted it. She needed it.

And that was what he had promised, wasn't it?

_"My end of the deal is tha_ _t I'll provide food, lodgings, a family, whatever you need, for you and Lillian. Your end is that you go to school and continue to get smart – and that you do as your told."_

Whatever she needed. 

"Alright," he told her, moving his hands to hold her face and nodding, curtly, "Give me a minute."

He went through to the kitchen, ensuring the doors between it and the shop were shut, locking them for good measure and pulling the curtains over to give another muffler, shutting the kitchen and front room doors over behind him as he re-entered.

He went to where she stood, motionless - fear and determination mingled on her little face. He tugged at the tie of her robe and she didn't fight him as he slipped it off her shoulders, letting it pool on the floor at her feet, though he saw a hitch in her breathing. He ran his right hand down her arm, taking her hand in his.

"Do you trust me?" he asked, his voice even lower and more throaty than usual.

She made a sound that wasn't quite a word but nodded, her eyes looking to his, searching for something. She was trembling, so he squeezed her hand and didn't break her eye contact, stepping backwards slowly until he felt the sofa hit the back of his legs. He glanced down quickly to make sure he'd got the centre, then sat, his eyes back on hers, her hand still in his.

"Come on, over my knee," he told her, tugging gently on the hand he held.

She went willingly, though shakily, and he let go of the hand he was holding so she could reach it out and learn on it as she came down.

He wrapped his left arm under her waist to help balance her as she lay herself down, murmuring to her, "That's it, that's a good girl," feeling her stomach muscles relax slightly at his words.

Once she was across him she grabbed a cushion and buried her face into it, crossing her arms beneath it. He frowned but didn't tell her to put it down – if it helped her to hold it then so be it, though he'd rather he could hear her clearly.

He laid his right hand on her upturned backside and noted the flinch that ran through her entire body at the touch. He let his hand rest where it was, letting her get used to it and rubbed her back with the other hand, keeping his voice quiet and as gentle as he could in the circumstance.

"Alright my darling girl, you're over my knee to get a spanking. I accept that you and Ada didn't think my no communist rule was for her, but you told me yourself that you realised when we had that family meeting that you might not be right in thinking so, and you should have come to me then. That's what this is about – for not coming to me as soon as you should have, for prioritising trying to keep Ada out of trouble with me over keeping her safe, alright?"

She mumbled something into the cushion.

"I can't hear you darling."

She turned her face to the side and whispered, "I'm sorry."

"I know you are my love," he told her, still rubbing her back, "But that's why we're here – because you made a bad judgement and you're sorry for it and you're going to get punished. It's going to hurt right here," he patted her rear and was relieved that there was no flinch this time, "And then you're going to let it go out of your head – no more being sorry, no more guilt, just letting it go and you and me moving on, alright?"

"Yes sir," she murmured.

"Alright, let's get it done," he said, stilling the hand that was rubbing her back and taking a grip on her waist with it instead, patting her bottom a few times with the other then raising it and bringing it down with a stinging force.

She buried her face back into the pillow and didn't make a sound as he commenced with the spanking. The new pyjamas were still men's pyjamas, Rackham's didn't sell pyjamas, only nightdresses, for women, but they'd bought a slightly smaller size than her old pyjamas must have been as the fit was much snugger around the peak of her arse. He couldn't help but appreciate what an exquisite arse she had – deliciously round and beautifully bouncy under his hand. But the issue was, even a few minutes later, it was only his hand that was making it bounce. He was well aware that Ada wriggled theatrically, but even Finn, who did always try and take it with slightly more grace than their sister, wriggled a little. There was nothing coming from the redhead, she may as well have been stone, other than for the jiggle in her nether regions as he spanked them.

Her feet were still on the ground and he paused and reached down, wrapping his arm around her knees and bringing them up onto the couch. It wasn't a particularly big sofa and her feet were resting up on the arm, but she kept her knees bent where he had placed them. He got the feeling she would have stayed in any position he put her in, but he wasn't convinced the stillness – or the silence – was a good sign. In fact it reminded him all too vividly of the vision he had of her standing in the middle of the school yard taking that caning in silence.

"Are you comfortable enough with your knees up?" he asked, taking the opportunity to rub her bottom, to try and assess the heat coming from it.

She made some kind of response into the pillow.

"Rosie, sweetheart, this position is designed to offer me good access to your backside," he said, trying to stay gentle with her, "I can't see your face and when you mumble into that pillow I can't hear you, so I need you to communicate better with me here."

"I'm sorry," she said, once she moved her face.

"That's alright, I'm not angry with you, I just need to be able to hear you, I need you to use words because I can't see you, alright?" he said, rubbing her back again.

"Yes sir," she replied quietly.

"So, are you comfortable with your knees up? I don't want to hurt you anywhere other than your arse, where the price for naughty behaviour has been paid for thousands of years," he said, hoping she'd hear the slight smile in his voice as he reached out and stroked her unruly mop of hair, letting his hand linger on her cheek a little, running his thumb over her cheekbone, wishing she would look back at him rather than staring resolutely at the wall in front of her turned head.

"I'm alright Tommy," she answered, biting her lip.

"Good girl," he said, patting her head, then moving his hand back to her waist and holding her again as he began to smack slightly harder this time.

She didn't make any noise but there was a movement this time – she arched her back and stuck her arse out, as though she wanted to make it easier for him to land the smacks where he wanted them.

He increased the force further, but she still didn't move any great deal or give him a sound, her face pushed back into the pillow.

He was sure he must have landed his hand fifty more times, at least, before she gave a slight moan, muffled by the pillow – and he was relieved to think that was maybe a sign of the equivalent time for her as the moment when Ada's shouts turned from exaggerated to genuine – or when Finn went from trying to control his shifting to kicking and crying.

But it didn't seem to be, after the moan she went back to the silence.

He stopped what he was doing and laid his hand on her rear, feeling the heat coming through it. It was definitely hot, and he was sure it was red to look at. He thought about tugging the pyjamas down, but she was still so private about her baths and getting changed in her own room with the door shut that he thought the baring of her backside for a spanking might upset her more than the bloody spanking itself.

"Rosie darling," he said, and got a muffled grunt in response, "Darling, this is stinging my hand and I can feel plenty of heat coming through these pyjamas, so unless you've got insides made of something different to the rest of us it's got to be hurting a bit by now?"

"It's sore Tommy," she said, her voice a bit croaky.

"That's good, it's meant to be sore. It's meant to burn away all your misbehaviour," he said, quoting what his mother had said to him a few times, "But if it's sore why am I not hearing a peep from you, eh?"

She shrugged in response, finally glancing up over her shoulder to him, rather than into the dying fire.

"My love, this isn't your time to be brave, alright? It's just you and me. How many spankings did your mother give you growing up?"

"None," she replied

"None?" he repeated, stunned at the idea.

The answer he had been expecting was the one he'd give – _loads_. Too many to count. One a week at least.

He knew she'd never smacked, much less spanked, Lily – and he knew she hadn't been at all keen on the idea when he'd pronounced it; but, if anything, he figured that came from her mother beating her too harshly as a child and he'd thought she'd share that with him when the time was right.

He'd never met anyone who hadn't been on the receiving end of some parental smackings in their time. Or he hadn't until now. Even the best behaved of them got it, it was just an entirely normal part of life. He had seen Danny chased down the street by his father waving a belt at him after all, and none of them had thought anything of it, though they had all hoped Danny would be the first of them to succeed in outrunning an angry parent with an implement in their hand (he wasn't.) And it wasn't just Small Heath life, it was bloody rare to go to the fayre when it came to town and to leave it without witnessing at least one Gypsy child having their tail reddened. In fact, in his opinion, for all the looking down the people of Birmingham did on Gypsies and travellers, he was fairly convinced Gypsy children were raised more strictly than those who could trace their residencies back for years.

"Right," he said, gaining control of himself, "Well, a large part of you letting go of this is by crying it out, that's what a sore backside usually helps along. Like I said, the fire here," he prodded at her plump behind, presented so fully and beautifully up to him with her arched back, "Burns away all your wrongdoings that landed you over my lap in the first place. And you let it go when you cry because you cry out all your guilt so that when we're done there's no naughtiness left and no guilt in you and we go forward on a fresh slate, alright? Do you understand?"

"Yes sir," she said, biting her lip.

"Alright, good girl, give me that," he said, reaching up and grasping the pillow, sliding it away from her and throwing it onto the floor, "Now, I've shut all the doors, everyone is asleep anyway, no one is going to hear a thing, alright? So, you cry out all you like my love, okay?"

"Yes Tommy," she said, putting her head on her folded arms.

He wasn't entirely sure he believed her, but when he went back to bring his hand down on her, she did begin to let some little moans and grunts escape her.

"So, why are you getting this?" he asked her, hoping forcing her to converse might make sound escape more freely from her.

"Because I'm a stupid woman," she replied, practically lifting her hips off his lap, as though she wanted to meet his swats even more quickly at that admission.

"No," he stopped, and laid his hand down, taking the opportunity to fondle the, literally, hot arse in front of him, running his hand across in, down the tops of her thighs and back up, rubbing his thumb along the undercurve, frowning, "You are not stupid. You did something stupid. You are very clever – and if you weren't I wouldn't be so disappointed by you doing something as silly as you did, would I?"

"No," she answered, her voice small.

"Good girl. So, what are you?" he asked, returning to spanking her at a steady rhythm, watching the bounce and ripple of her backside.

"I don't know what you mean," she said, wriggling slightly over his lap.

"You're a very clever young woman," he told her, continuing his steady smacks, "You have a good head for numbers – and I know because I know you've been fixing Arthur's ledgers for him and Polly says they're always right now. And you read all those books. And you have a strategical mind, you were the one who figured out how to stop Arthur calling meetings on a Saturday without me and him arguing anymore after all. So, what are you?"

"I'm a very clever young woman," she repeated back to him, groaning and moving her hips side to side.

Finally! It seemed, if he made her talk, her body moved as it wanted to – probably because her mind was focussed elsewhere.

"Good girl, so why are you getting a spanking?"

"I'm getting a spanking – ouch – because I – aow – because I had bad judgement and I didn't come to you when – ouch – when I should have about – ouch – about how I was worried about Ada," she replied, squirming properly by the end of her sentence, her voice giving way to little gasps every so often.

"Good girl, that was a good answer," he told her, bringing his hand down over and over, keeping a steady rhythm, "So we're going to deal with that here and now aren't we? I'm putting a fire in your backside and you're going to cry it out and then we're all going to move on, aren't we? We're going to have a fresh slate and you're going to be my good girl again."

"Yes sir," she squealed.

"Good girl," he said, smacking away.

"Yes," she replied, not seemingly to realise it wasn't a question, her back arched and her backside wriggling away over his lap, "Yes I want to be your good girl, I want to be good Tommy, I'll be good."

He smiled, letting his hand leave her waist to pat the back of her head, which was buried into her folded arms, briefly before placing it back where it rested before, his right hand descending on her upturned bottom all the while.

"That's good darling, because I know you're my good girl. You're my clever girl, my darling girl, my favourite girl - you know that, don't you? And _that_ is why I will put you over my knee and give you a good spanking any time you need one – because I care about you and you're very clever and you know when you've done wrong and this is how we're going to get rid of that guilt in your head, do you understand? Because I don't want you carrying that around with you, alright?"

"Yes Tommy – thank you – please – I'll be good," she garbled in response, her feet starting to beat on the arm of the sofa where they rested.

"Alright, nearly done now darling," he said, smacking away.

They were nearly done, he was sure of it. Her back was still arched, pushing her arse up at him, basically begging him for more, but her silence had gone out the window.

He hooked the arm at her waist around her hips and pulled up, and she went with him, bringing her knees in and arching her back so her behind was sticking right up and her sit spots were exposed nicely for him. He went side to side, landing quick, stinging smacks on them and she squealed and wriggled, drumming her feet into the sofa now, a chorus of "Tommy! Tommy! Tommy!" escaping frantically from her as she waved her backside in front of him.

She sounded like she was on the verge of releasing her tension and letting go – letting go and giving way to the cleansing tears that were needed, that was, though he could well imagine that this wasn't too far removed from how she would sound, repeating his name, before releasing tension in other ways too. And he'd have her in this position too, at some point, practically on all fours with that magnificent arse stuck up for him to do as he pleased with. But he pushed the thought down. This wasn't the time.

He hardened his voice and increased the speed and strength of the smacks, sternly ordering her, "Rosalie Jackson, you release all that tension and give me some good girl tears right now!"

He didn't know if it was the words, the tone he delivered them in, the increased strength of the smacks to her sit spots, or indeed just the timing, but the tension left her then and she sagged, giving way to the tears he knew she needed to cry.

"Alright, darling, alright," he murmured, going back to his softer voice, "That's my good girl, you've had your spanking so you cry it out now."

She didn't say anything but she rocked back slightly, as if she were going to try and kneel up, though her head stayed very much buried in her arms, but as her bottom touched the arm of the chair she squealed and shot back up.

"Alright, darling," he repeated, putting a hand under her stomach, "Up here to me, there's a good girl."

She was like a newborn foal, as if she didn't quite know how to move her limbs herself as he pulled her up and brought her face to his chest, pulling her legs apart so she had a knee on either side of him, placing one of his hands on the back of her head, the other rubbing her tender backside.

"That's my good girl, that's my darling girl," he murmured in her ear, and as if the words jolted her into realising how to move, she did, winding her arms and legs around him, clinging on even as her new position caused her to try out as her thoroughly reddened behind settled on his lap.

"That's alright darling, that's okay," he said, spreading his legs slightly so her backside could hang in the middle, his hand still rubbing the sting out of it as much as he could.

He kissed the side of her head multiple times, murmuring phrases of comfort and affection in the Romani tongue alongside his regular "That's my good girl," "That's my darling girl."

The spanking had gone on longer than any he could ever remember giving, or indeed getting, and the crying followed suit – hard won as it was, it gave for a good long while, until she was gasping for breath from the exertion of it, cried out of all tears completely. He wondered how many bouts of tears she had pushed down in her life - and how many of them spilled along with the tears he had been aiming to pull from her.

He shifted gently forward, keeping a hold of her with one hand and reaching for her discarded water with the other, having it ready to offer her when she settled herself enough to want it – which she eventually did. She shuffled back on his lap and met his eyes warily over the mug of water, as if she was unsure what he would think of her.

He reached out and ran both his thumbs under her puffy and swollen eyes, wiping away the remnants of her crying. As soon as she dropped the mug, he reached forward, a hand on either side of her face and kissed her forehead.

"You did really well, you were very brave to let go," he told her.

She shifted her eyes away from him, her face flushing, "What was that Tom?" she asked, not looking back to him.

He sat back slightly, surveying her as she bit her lip and played with her fingers.

"I think," he said, carefully, "That might have been you clearing some of the smoke and mud out of your head."

She met his eyes again and nodded, "I think so too."

He reached out and took her hands in his, rubbing his thumbs along the backs of hers, "I told you I'd give you everything you needed, so if you need your arse warmed every so often to clear it out, I'll do that – in addition to anything else I need to turn you over my knee for."

"Well, I'll think about it," she said ruefully, "But I don't think I'm in any hurry to repeat that."

He smiled and lifted her hands to his lips, kissing them, "Well, don't be saucy, mind your temper, do as you're told and don't lie to me or conceal things from me and you won't repeat it."

She nodded, then, with a slight attempt at a smile, taking her hands from his and waving them around, "You know I only agreed to go to school and do as I was told, I never agreed to the rest of it – I'm not sure you're allowed to go changing the terms of a deal once it's made."

He grinned and kissed her cheek, "Well it doesn't seem that it's beaten you into submission you little wench, I knew that smart-arse was still in there."

"Smarting arse more like it," she grumbled, rolling her eyes at him.

He shook his head and rolled his own eyes back at her, smirking, "Aye, a well deserved one - and I hope you'll learn from it."

"Well deserved indeed," she muttered sarcastically, but without much real bite.

"You alright though?" he asked, serious for a moment.

"Other than the obvious," she said, kneeling up and reaching back to rub at her rear, her chest directly at his eyes as she did so.

"Alright, let's go get your face washed so we can get to bed, it's nearly half two in the morning," he said, glancing up at the clock on the table - and slightly afraid he might give in to doing something he'd regret if she didn't get herself off to bed and kept rubbing her arse and thrusting her chest at him, even if she didn't realise she was doing it.

She stood up gingerly, her hands still rubbing at her backside, but headed out the back and disappeared through the door of the outhouse, reappearing with her face slightly less red. He headed out himself, though he was fairly sure after he got her to bed he'd be back out – the tears now having gone, he was starting to focus instead on the memory of her telling him she wanted to be a good girl as she arched her arse out for him to spank it for her.

She stood in the kitchen, having refilled her mug of water whilst he was out, her eyes watching him as he went through and locked the front door, then came back and opened the curtains and the locked shop doors.

"On you go up," he told her, "Unless you want me to sit with you until you go to sleep?"

She shook her head but didn't make any move towards the stairs either, downing the mug of water then set it on the table and bit her lip as she looked at him.

"Goodnight Thomas," she said, without any note of finality in her voice – no sign that she intended to depart.

"Goodnight Rosalie," he replied, staring at her and wondering what exactly was going on in her head.

"Thomas…" she began, then trailed off.

He sensed she was trying to work out how to word something, so he didn't interrupt her thought process, as desperate as he was to know what was in, or on, her mind. His heart thumped as she took her time.

"Tommy, are we alright? Really?" she asked eventually, biting her lip.

That was all? All that time and her question was whether they were truly alright? He didn't know how she could think otherwise, but he figured he'd best reassure her.

"Come here," he said, holding his arms out to her, folding her in to him, "Of course we are, my love. You and I will not be doing grudges, Christ knows I've got enough of that going on elsewhere to maintain. If we argue we'll have a resolution – whatever it is – and we'll both move on, alright?"

"Does that mean I get spanked every time we argue?" she asked, drawing back out of his hold unamused.

"Only if you're in the wrong," he said, grinning at her pout and yanking her back in.

"I don't ever want to go to bed with anything hanging over me, Tommy, not with you," she told him, suddenly serious, "I thought I'd die when you told me to go to bed earlier and I knew it wasn't right."

He kissed her head.

"I'm sorry. If I'm honest," he sighed, "I know you had good intentions underneath your deceit – and I damn well knew I thought you deserved a spanking but I didn't… Well it doesn't matter. I saw all that guilt in your eyes and I figured maybe we both needed to go through it, no matter what your intentions had been. But I'm sorry I didn't just commit to that from the start."

She nodded, laying her head into his chest, "Your shirt needs a clean, between the mess me and Ada have made of it."

He smiled and went to press a kiss to her cheek, but at that moment she unburied her face from his soiled shirt and turned to say something – and his lips ended up brushing hers, rather than the cheek he'd been aiming for.

And it turned out every cliché about bolts or jolts or lightening or sparks were cliched for a reason, because he felt one then, one that rippled from their joined mouths through his entire body, making his toes curl. It was like the earth was moving. Like when he'd been in the war and he'd had that minute to feel tethered to the earth and make his plans, then he'd leave and float off to watch it happen. This was like being so alive, so part of the world and everything in it, that he felt everything, like he could feel the heat of the fire as the last of it crackled in the grate, like he could feel the slow thrum of the water pipes that ran beneath their feet, like he could hear and feel the hand of the clock tick forward, clean and clear and definite. 

He drew back, his mouth opening slightly as his eyes met her wide ones – but as soon as their eyes met they needed to be joined again and their mouths hungered to feat on one another's – but more determinedly, more deliberately this time. His hands went to the sides of her head, tugging her mouth to him, whilst she pressed her body against his and her hands circled around his back, pulling him to her as if she wanted their bodies to meld as their mouths were doing.

He ran his hands down to her tender arse and squeezed, eliciting a moan of something between pain and pleasure, delivered directly to his mouth from her throat and he kissed her even more deeply, slipping his hands under her swollen nether regions, lifting her up. She squirmed against him as her legs obediently wrapped around his waist and her hands went to his head as his caressed her back.

He carried her to the table and sat her on it, breaking back from her even as she gasped and wiggled delightfully at the sudden pressure on her well smacked arse. He wanted her, but he needed to tell her first.

"I need you to know," he told her, his eyes locked with hers, "I didn't ask you here for this. I asked you here with the best of intentions."

She bit her lip and seemed to draw her body backwards slightly.

"I want you," he told her, reassured her – and he kissed her again, pulling her back to him, closing the small distance she had put between them at his words.

When they broke apart he kept his hands on her face and continued, "Heaven fucking help me, I want you. And I've wanted you for long enough that I should have probably known it was asking for trouble to ask you to come here. Like my own personal circle of hell, watching you and that baby in my house like you'd always been here, always belonged here, and not being able to take you in my arms and do this. But I need you to know I didn't ask you for this. I wanted it, but if it had never happened and I felt I'd done you some good, let you have a little less worry in your life by providing for you – I'd have been happy with that. I brought you here because I know what it's like to have to do a job that shouldn't be yours to do, and to do it so young. I brought you here because I wanted to help, not for this. That's what I wanted to tell you tonight. That's why I wanted a dinner, because I didn't want – I didn't want this, not like this – not without explaining first."

She smiled and ran her hand over his cheek, "That's a bit disappointing Thomas," she told him.

"It is?" he asked, unsure what she meant – unsure of why.

She nodded, "I'm used to thinking quite highly of myself you see. Quite enjoy feeling I've got a smug moral high ground from time to time. And I've been going to church a lot recently to back it up," she paused and rolled her eyes at him, "And yet here's the notorious gangster Thomas Shelby telling me he asked me here for decent reasons, that he didn't ask me here for this. Whereas me? Thomas, this is exactly what I came here for."

And then she kissed him, her hands pulling his head to hers, like their lips couldn't be close enough, like she also had been wandering, floating above the world until now - like he was tethering and securing her as much as she was him. 


End file.
